Gone
by loriimonsterr
Summary: Before either brother has a chance to react, the worst happens. Sam awakes to find himself alone and his brother gone. When the unthinkable happens Sam is slowly torn apart, but for Dean it might be a more physical pain.
1. Chapter 1

_So I'm in love with Supernatural(don't own) and brothers winchester. this fanfiction is the result of that.  
reviews?_

"Dean!"

Dean shifted his weight to avoid a piece of roofing that seemed to move on its own. He unloaded his gun into the translucent being feet away from him before turning to extend an arm to his brother who was dangerously close to losing his grip on the balcony's thin railing. "Damn it, Sam," Dean hissed through clenched teeth, stretching his shoulders to their limit to reach Sam's open hand. Before Sam had time to warn him Dean felt his feet lose their contact with the ground and reconnected with it by means of his back several yards away without his gun. He coughed, slightly winded, rolling to his side in time to see the ghoul reappear above his brother, white knuckled and grimacing, but still clinging to the bar. She seemed to be sizing up the situation before the section Sam held to began to shake.

"DEAN!"

_Sammy._

"Over here, bitch!" Dean bared his teeth, rolling to avoid another piece of roofing, "That all you got?"

Sam watched his brother direct attention to himself to protect his own life. He swallowed back an urge to yell at him, deciding it best to assert his energy in pulling himself back to the action. He looked down at his feet, dangling nearly forty stories above the busy street too immersed in their own cares to notice a man hanging from the corner of a towering building. He licked his lips, glancing only momentarily back to his brother to make sure he was alright before focusing on his grip and digging his sneakers back into the smoothed stone in an attempt to push himself up one more time.

"Come _on!"_ he bit his lip as he felt his fingers slip.

Dean managed to reach his gun in time to unload another round of salt into the wispy image pursuing him. The form shrieked before dusting away. Dean resisted the urge to stay on his back and rest as the image of his brother came back to his mind. He pulled himself up, legs already peddling towards the railing with his heart hammering in his ears.

"Sam, you okay?" Dean asked, already hoisting his younger brother up by his arm. He struggled to pull him far enough up to help himself, "Dude, you gained weight."

Sam ignored Dean's taunt, leaning heavily against him to stretch his leg over the rail, "I told you it wasn't on the roof."

Dean stood proudly in front of his brother with a crooked smile, "And that, baby brother, is where you're wrong." He lifted a small box and shook it for good measure. Had to have some cheap old ring in it. What was up with ghosts and holding on to meaningless shit like say, an engagement ring, was beyond Dean's span of compassion. "You know how hard it is to find something this small while you're getting your ass handed to you by some dead chick?"

Sam's eyes gave his brother the indication that he need not know considering he had been dangling over a hundred feet in the air above a busy street for what felt like half an hour.

"Okay, okay, on with the easy part."

Several minutes and a salt burned engagement ring later the boys found themselves in the nearly empty parking deck. Trying to make Sam's bloody mouth and Dean's skinned cheek look natural, they sauntered towards Dean's Impala.

"I still say Las Vegas would be a perfect vacation spot, Sammy," Dean offered, tossing his shotgun into the trunk, completely unfazed by the assortment of weapons that filled it.

"Since when have we done vacations?" Sam retaliated.

"Since you almost learn to fly and I lose patience with the dearly departed," Dean grinned, giving Sam a wink, "I'll even teach'ya how you really win a game of poker."

"I'm not interested in your methods of cheating."

"I like to think of them as helpful—" Dean's voice faded as the air around them changed.

"I feel it too," Sam agreed with Dean's silence, peering over his shoulder. Someone was watching them. Call it intuition, a hunter's sixth sense, but they both knew when they were being watched; and Sam swore he smelled sulfur.

Their eyes narrowed almost simultaneously as they skimmed the parking deck for signs of anything wrong, slowly moving back towards the trunk for their weapons. Sam didn't notice the light breeze tugging at his lengthy, brown hair. Something definitely wasn't right.

The light patter behind Sam's back came to late to stop, and too late for Dean to prevent. A hard blow to the back of the head instantly tilted the world as black dots began to fill his vision. He barely felt the jarring of his head against the pavement as the lights began to dim and a thick fog of darkness took over him.

"Sammy!" His brother's voice echoed through his mind, muffled as though he were underwater, before everything went away and unconsciousness took him.

---

Sam's eyes fluttered open to meet a harsh ray of light illuminating the surrounding pavement from a street light several yards away, oddly bright for such a far away source. Sam groaned, rolling his forehead against the asphalt while he dug his palms into the ground for support. His head felt like a train had gotten the better of it while he was sleeping.

"God, Dean, what'd you do to me while I was -- "

Sam pushed himself onto his knees, reeling from the sudden jolt it caused in his head. He fought to keep the black dots from swarming his vision as the realization of where he was hit him for the first time since awakening.

Roof. Ghost. Las Vegas? Pain. Pavement. Dean.

_Dean!_

"Dean!" Sam's voice barely broke the silence in the parking lot scarcely lit with the first speck of sunlight in the distance. He swallowed, regaining his voice, "Dean!"

He stood, cupping his hands around his mouth, "Dean!" He fought back the tightening in his throat as he made out the empty Impala a few feet away, "I swear to God, Dean, if you're trying to be funny!" He stopped short at the sight of a small pool of blood peeking behind the far back tire of the Chevy. He pressed his hands against the sides of the head, as if they could somehow keep the world from crashing in around him.

He wanted to vomit.

His brother was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

_This was recently edited, corrected, and hopefully much easier to read. Sorry for the previous state of it!  
I hope you enjoy chapter two and remember to review, it's what keeps me going!_

Dean's mouth snapped shut, jaw clenched. His head rested almost peacefully against his chest while his body sagged in its unconscious state. The tip of his shoes barely scraped the hard earth beneath him. Shallow breathing, indicated by the slow and shaky rise and fall of his chest, was the only testament to the eldest Winchester even being alive.

Until a sharp intake of breath interrupted the silent tomb.

Dean's head lolled to the left and then to the right, as if he couldn't will it to rise. His face was dry, almost too tight to show his pained expression, caked in dry blood running from more than one cut. He winced as he attempted in vain to lower his arms. He licked his lips, refusing to open his eyes, and managed to stifle a chough. His head hurt like hell, his arms were held in place above his head, chained to the ceiling, and he couldn't even reach the floor to rest his shoulders that had already started to burn from their position.

"Son of a bitch," he mumbled, lifting himself by upper body strength alone to roll his neck.

Where the hell was Sam anyway?

_Sammy!_

"Sam?" he was careful to whisper, not stupid enough to start screaming just yet.

His eyelids reluctantly opened, revealing his intensified green eyes already narrowing in search of his brother. He blinked away the blurriness of the bleak surroundings to see a moldy, gray wallpaper peeling from water damage and what appeared to be years of rot on a steely concrete wall. He jerked his head back to stare at the plank above his head, spreading his arms no farther than shoulder length apart, binding him at the wrists with thick ropes. He gave them a tug in dismay. They were tighter than he expected and there wasn't a chance in hell that Dean was capable of breaking free of them; at least not until he discovered what means to do so.

With the realization that he was alone in the room he dropped his head back to his chest. As long as Sam wasn't tied up with him, as long as he was okay. When they were both strung up by their thumbs they might be in trouble, but hell, he might be back on the road in a few hours with any luck on Sam's part.

He strained his memory, trying to recollect the events that had brought him to the gray room he now resided in. The only thing he could come up with was the image of Sam falling, a brief struggle with whoever had gotten their head around the idea of taking his brother out from behind, and a hard crack to the side of his head. Then it got a little fuzzy. He had an inkling that someone had slammed his head into the concrete a second time when he didn't lose consciousness right away. It would explain the amount of blood he still tasted, dried at the corner of his lips.

But then again, why _didn't_ they take Sam?

The sound of someone's weight creaking against rotting wood just outside of the room forced Dean's head up. A door somewhere behind him screeched almost painfully it swung open so slow causing the prickling on the back of his neck to linger like an ominous warning.

"What's a man gotta do to get some water 'round here?" he prided, unable to bite his tongue. He swayed a bit, trying to look over his shoulder with no success.

Silence answered his request.

"That's okay," he sniffed, grinning a little, "I wanted beer anyway."

He stiffened, unable to hide his unwillingness to the touch as he felt a hand glide across his back, hesitating around his waist, before smoothing over his chest, only stopping to wrap around his right shoulder. He craned his neck away from the breath that crept over his left side. He swallowed roughly, grinding his teeth against the urge to scream as his captor inched their left arm across his abdomen, with an impressive knife that sent chills down his spine. It rested around his left shoulder, blade protruding several inches out from his face. He eyed it warily, more interested in who held the weapon.

"Hey, Dean," a woman's voice whispered almost playfully in his ear. The voice itself had no connection to Dean, but its tone struck a chord he couldn't place.

She swept the blade across his chest lightly, leaving a thin trail of crimson he wouldn't submit himself to do more than flinch at before coming to an abrupt halt directly over a particular scar below his left collar bone. His eyes widened in recognition too late.

His head snapped back as his back arched through the pain. He screamed through his teeth as the knife was slowly pressed deeper into the muscle, wringing his wrists in desperation, incapable of controlling his cries until the knife stopped two inches from the guard. Blood seeped through the fibers of his shirt, soaking his side with the warm liquid. He swallowed, breathing heavily through his nose to keep himself from vomiting.

Meg smiled over his shoulder before ripping the knife from its bodily sheath, relishing the agonized pitch in Dean's fresh groan of pain, "It's been a while."

* * *

Silence engulfed the shabby hotel room and the roaring traffic outside. The unmade bed across from the one on which Sam sat with his face hidden while resting in his hands was almost too much to bear. The twisted sheets indicating Dean's messy sleeping habits and lack of cleanliness only made the hole in Sam's chest grow deeper. He almost expected the door to burst open revealing a tired but breathing Dean Winchester bitching about how long he had waited for Sam to get there. He pressed his palms over his eyelids until specks of white invaded his vision; that wasn't going to happen.

Sam had spent his time searching archives for suspicious residents or abandoned buildings in an ever widening area only to come up with a list he didn't know where to begin with. Ellen undoubtedly had Ash doing the same on a larger scale, assuring him that if anyone could find Dean it was Ash. Sam didn't have the energy to talk long nor hear her words of encouragement she attempted to give. He just hoped Dean was somewhere he would still be able to reach him.

He stared at his cell phone that lay motionless inches from his fingers. He resisted the urge to call Dean's cell, whether in hopes of an answer, or just to hear his voice mocking him on his voicemail by promising to get back to Sam soon.

His hadn't slept since he awoke in the parking deck nearly a week earlier, but sleep was slowly gaining ground. There was nothing else to do, almost no where left to search, and no more signs to follow. His laptop buzzed dryly from the nightstand open to another list he had no business accessing. In truth, Sam was losing hope, weighed down by the many unreasonable questions with no logical answers. Why would they take Dean and leave him? Why didn't they kill Sam on spot if Dean was the only one they wanted? What proof did he have that his brother was even alive?

The last question was what scared him the most. Every time the thought crossed his mind it became harder to deny and tore him apart to admit that it could be true.

He had called Bobby after the first few hours expecting him to be the biggest help, but for whatever reason, his phone had been off and he had yet to respond to Sam's frantic messages. Sam however, was too caught up in more pressing matters to dwell on why Bobby had been unavailable even now.

Ironically enough, the first person to pop into his mind as he scrolled through the phonebook in his cell was someone he knew for sure would never answer. John Winchester's name has been burned into his memory only hours after Dean had been taken from him.

He had cried.

His father's name, a name he'd neglected to delete from his phone, even after watching him burn, dug deep into his heart. The name was like an omen, a warning of how alone he would be before everything was over. Sam had lost his mother before her face could even register as a memory. Then his girlfriend's life was ended the same way, only days before he planned to propose. He had been the one to find his father collapsed, cold and lifeless, only minutes after Dean has awoken from a coma several rooms away.

Now he wouldn't even have Dean, the one person he had left in the world -- the one person he could count on to always be there. Dean was the one who was supposed to be there, who swore he'd never leave him. He was the one who always protected Sammy, no matter what the price was to him. Mostly Dean was his older brother, his annoyingly confident, over-protective brother.

So he cried for himself and for his brother. He knew why Dean would never kill him if it came down to it. He knew how bad it would hurt to be so utterly alone and hated ever asking the only person he cared about to live through that kind of hell.

Sam rolled to his side to face the blurring letters on the computer's screen, trying to blink away the sleep in his eyes. He pulled his knees to his chin and bit his lip to stop his teeth from chattering, more from the knot in his stomach than the chilly air in the room. He held back a new wave of helplessness that threatened his already reddening eyes before shutting them and falling asleep for the first time in what seemed to be a lifetime without Dean.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Fair warning**: the most versatile word in the english language and a downright gruesome part are in this chapter. There will be some descriptive enough violence. Thankfully I'm not the violent type. (I was told to be more descriptive by the person who helped me with fine-tuning this time)  
Since I had the option of using Word this time it shouldn't be as riddled with grammatical errors as it was in the previous chapters. I really am sorry that I didn't have spellcheck or the will power to proof read very much at all.  
**Thanks for all the reviews(keep 'em coming!). Hope you enjoy this chapter!**_

Sam's breathing came to a stop, caught in his throat as his heart slowed to an eerie silence permeated only by a slight buzzing of pain in his ears. The staggering sight in front of him flashed in and out of focus as many of his visions tended to do. He strained to keep his attention on the gray room with peeling wallpaper and away from the bits of hotel drab that threatened to pull him back to reality away from his barely conscious brother.

Dean hung from his wrists with blood staining the ropes and glistening on his forearms in the center of the empty room. His shirt barely clung to his skin, mostly torn and bloodied from wounds covering his now exposed chest. On his left arm in particular seemed to be the worst wound Sam could find in his sketchy view of his current state. His dimming eyes rested on a meaningless spot on the floor, clouded by what could only be pain, before lifting to peer straight through where Sam would have stood were he really there.

A brief image of floral bedding in the hotel room interrupted the vision of his brother before returning to find that Dean was no longer alone. A man stood, arms crossed in front of Dean away from Sammy's direct line of vision. He tried in vain to control where he stood to get a better look at the bastard but only managed to pry himself, rubbing his eyes in pain, back to reality for several seconds. As the clarity of the vision regained his attention he resigned to maintain.

The man walked casually to Dean's left and then to his right, keeping his eyes on Dean away from Sam's view the entire time. Dean's lip curled in anger, revealing his gleaming teeth, slightly blood stained in places. The man only sauntered back to his left, chuckling softly. His hair was short, undoubtedly threatening to begin balding. He stood close to Dean's height were he standing and appeared to be at least a decade older than Sam. The look in Dean's eyes told him he knew who the man was even before he turned to run his hand across his jaw, a smile dancing on his sinister lips, and revealed astonishing yellow eyes.

"What the fuck have you done with my brother!?" Dean shook with pure hatred and a sudden onslaught of strength.

The man pulled something silver too from his coat pocket and turned to face Dean once more too quickly for Sam to make out what it was. Until Dean cocked his head back to expose his neck in an attempt to maneuver away from a blade that now grazed his throat. "Nothing you'll be able to prevent," he whispered before slicing the knife across Dean's skin, penetrating the jugular and spraying crimson across the room. He ignored the choked cry that was ended abruptly to be replaced by a shallow gasping that soon fell to a single gag before bringing the knife to halt. Dean's head fell to his chest and he remained silent. Blood poured in what looked like gallons from his open wound, draining to his lower abdomen before trickling down his pants leg to pool beneath his feet. He still swung gently as if his spirit had just relinquished itself from the battle for survival.

The man stretched his free hand to Dean's face and ran it to the back of his head before grasping him by his hair, yanking his scalp to pull his face up and spread the narrow gash into a deep pocket of blood. He turned while holding Dean's lifeless head, to face the place Sam would have been and smiled before pulling his other arm back in mock of pitcher's underhand throw.

"Catch," he grinned toothily with blood plastered on his face at Sam, staring straight into his eyes before throwing the knife.

Sam awoke on the floor of the empty hotel room to the sound of a heart wrenching scream only to discover it originated in his own throat. He brought his hands, shaking violently from the vision, to his face, certain that blood, not a cold sweat, coated his pale skin. The lump in his throat and the fear in his heart prevented him from moving from his curled position on the stained carpet. He covered his eyes, struggling to subdue his shaking and erase the image of his brother's bleeding corpse and the demon's fiery eyes.

Part of him reasoned that he had a new reason to hope; Dean was still alive if only for the moment. But another part of him wouldn't help but roll to his side to hold his face in his hands and cry. He pressed his forehead to the carpet, gripping the sides of his head and screamed through his teeth in rage before turning back to his side with a single sob.

He had just seen his brother's throat slit and the only family he had left murdered.

* * *

Dean smiled slightly in spite of the man that stood before of him, holding his hand in a fist with blood dripping from his knuckles. He was unaware of the vision that plagued his brother several days earlier and continued to cause him pain. He was only aware of the presence of pain. 

He swallowed against the taste of copper in his mouth, the same blood that stained the older man's knuckles. The man with yellow eyes only glowered with hatred before raising his arm to strike Dean once more. His fist connected with unnatural force to his side; he groaned against the snap of his own ribs that broke under the sudden attack.

"Are you unaware of the amount of stupidity that seeps through your every fiber?" his eyes narrowed inches from Dean's face.

Dean tried to smile again in response but only managed to cough up more blood. He hoped the look in his eyes told the bastard he didn't give a damn about what he had done. He clenched his teeth behind his closed lips, holding back a second cough and stared in defiance. What he'd done was worth it.

"You accomplished nothing," he almost lashed out before collecting himself and continuing, "she won't be sent back to hell, just to a new host of sorts. All you did was kill an innocent woman and cause an inconvenience."

Dean shifted his eyes away from the demon as the word innocent entered his mind. He knew the woman wouldn't survive the possession. Even if she did, they would only murder her to stop her from spreading the news of an acute memory loss that lasted for a period of weeks, maybe even months. She wouldn't have survived anyway. He had trouble keeping his face straight despite his own self assurances. She really was innocent, even if the thing inside of her hadn't been.

The image of the charming young brunette that Meg possessed reentered Dean's memory.

He had woken on the floor of another room, smaller than the gray one he was usually contained in to find himself untied like he had been every two days or so for a period of no more than ten minutes for self sustaining purposes provided in the form of water and a fistful of stale bread. He refused to submit himself to remembering where he was forced to piss like an animal.

He knew if he didn't have Sammy he would have slammed his head into a wall the first chance he got instead of waiting around trying desperately to think of a way out. He knew Sam was looking for him if he was still alive. He choked up at the thought of his little brother dying without anyone to protect him every time it entered his mind. Because of the very thought though, he hoped to God Sam never found him. There was every chance in hell that Meg wouldn't hesitate to kill him despite what the yellow eyed demon supposedly had planned and he knew it. Sam was better off alone than coming to find him and meet a likely death that would be Dean's fault alone.

Then that day in the separate steely room he concocted a plan. It wasn't something he had just thought of, but something he avoided pondering for moral reasons. There was no way around what he had to do; no possible alternative. He waited on Meg to appear on the opposite side of the door. He waited to feel the bone tingling slam of his back against the wall, bracing himself against it ahead of time to stop the impact from causing enough damage to render him unconscious. He kept his head down, didn't move, and didn't breathe any more than any normal man recently knocked out would. When Meg reached down to drag him easily back to the gray room he acted.

Before she could stop him with the small flick of her wrist that would send him flying through the air back to the wall, he pressed her shoulders to the ground, gripped her by either side of the jaw and twisted hard and fast. He ignored the sickening crack of her spine as he held his heel against her shoulder and thrust her skull backwards, twisting it further, knowing she had survived worse in the past. He drug his nails into the underside of her jaw before giving a final twist and an unnatural yank until vertebrae and hints of muscle tissue ripped through flesh and soaked his hands in blood.

As soon as he had taken a step back to stare at the nauseating massacre he had done to the woman, a familiar cloud of black smoke streamed from her mouth that hung agape in a silent scream of pain and terror and disappeared through the crack in the bottom of the door. He didn't allow himself to stand in shock of what he had just done. Dean bounded for the door he knew wouldn't be open and didn't stop before bringing his heel squarely to the lock, remembering how badly that had gone the first time he simply went for busting down a door. He assumed that Meg was working alone. He imagined that ripping her from her human body was the only way to give him time to escape.

_Shit._

As soon as the door swung open, Dean was met with an all too familiar form of a man burning holes through his skin with yellow eyes.

He barely managed to take a step back before he felt himself slung back with such a force that he heard the impact of his body hitting concrete before he felt it. Before he could stop the world from spinning he was slammed into a second wall, and another, and forced to the ceiling where he felt himself weightless for a moment before connecting with the dusty floor with a thud in all of two seconds. He didn't move.

Now he stared angrily into the man's fiery eyes remembering his mother's face, his father's mission, and even his brother's blissfully ignorant girlfriend who simply got caught in the crossfire and hated him. He hated all of them.

"What would Sammy think of such behavior?"

"Don't call him that," he muttered fiercely, baring his teeth in defense, suddenly worried of his brother's reaction to such a crime against another human being.

The man only grinned, fingering Dean's cell phone in his hands, "Perhaps we should ask his opinion."


	4. Chapter 4

_This chapter was unbearably hard to write. Hope it was worth it!  
I've gone back to correct the majority of mistakes I had in previous chapters. I'm so glad Word is back on my computer. I needed spell check more than I'd like to admit. Rotten typos and lack of attention span that kept me from proof reading properly.  
Be sure to leave a review, those of you that do are my heroes!_

Sam's eyes skimmed what little portion of the road was visible in the dim headlights. Silence enveloped the interior of Dean's precious Impala, undisturbed by the usual sound of his music. Sam glanced gloomily at the empty passenger seat to his right, remembering the familiar image of Dean sleeping off a hangover.

He gripped the steering wheel and tried to focus on staying on the winding road instead of the growing hatred inside. He knew Dean was in a warehouse. He knew there were multiple rooms; at least one was separate with peeling wallpaper and stone cold walls. Ash drew a blank on supernatural activity almost everywhere. Process of elimination wasn't much, but it was all Sam could to. Up to twenty possible warehouses each day had begun to take their toll on what little optimism he managed to keep for his brother's sake. His eyes narrowed against the sleep that threatened to pull him into the cover of trees and off the nearly abandoned back road to unconsciousness. He shook his head and blinked away the sticky feeling of drowsiness.

The unsettling silence Sam had endured for days that felt like months was interrupted by the sharp and intense sound of his cell phone ringing loud enough to wake the dead. He snatched it from the dashboard, hesitating just long enough to see the black letters glowing through the pale light of the slender screen.

His heart could have stopped.

_Dean._

He veered to the right, simultaneously dropping the phone. Headlights blinded him as he struggled to regain control of the Chevy he had allowed to drift into a previously empty lane. He didn't bother to ease the car to the side of the road, but pulled just far enough off the path to slam on the brakes and bend to snatch the phone that lay beneath his feet. His hands shook as the cell emitted a second ring.

"Dean?" Sam's voice was frantic as he shouted a second time, "Dean!"

"Howdy, Sam," a voice not belonging to his brother sneered through the line.

Sam's free hand found its way to his mouth and remained there for a moment to prevent him from choking on the lump in his throat before he forced himself to respond through clenched teeth, "I swear to God if you –"

The sound of someone grunting in pain reached his ears before he could finish his sentence. His hand rose to cover his mouth a second time.

"It's a little late for threats."

"Son of a bitch," he almost growled in response. Sam's insult went unknown to the eldest Winchester who fired the same retort at virtually the same time.

Dean clenched his jaw through the pain in his now dislocated shoulder. He tried desperately not to move in order to minimize the aching as his weight pulled harder against it.

"How 'bout that?" The demon spoke into the phone with his eyes drilled on Dean's, "Seems I've stepped into an echo."

He hesitated for a moment before assuming Sam had no further comment on the particular subject and placed a hand roughly against Dean's back. Dean couldn't hide the pain that sent shock waves through his body as he sucked air through his teeth to keep himself from screaming.

"I expected that comment from Dean," he removed his hand with a smile to his captive, "which he so eagerly delivered I might add, but from you?" He clicked his tongue as if he were scolding a small child.

A tear threatened to escape Sam's tightly closed eyes at the sound of his brother's anguished cry through the phone. "Please stop," he managed to whisper, shaking in his animosity for the thing he was willing to plead with.

"Stop?" The heavy weight of mockery dripped from the demon's voice. "Do you think this is a courtesy call?"

Sam swallowed the hatred in his throat to keep himself from causing more harm to come to Dean. "What do you want?"

"Just an opinion," the threatening tone in his voice seemed to lighten, "on something Dean and I have been discussing." He paused as if expecting Sam to make another comment before continuing. "You see, Dean has committed an atrocious act against a fellow human," he grinned, "and seems resolved in his decision, despite its degree."

Sam remained silent, barely glancing at the truck that sped past, momentarily lighting his sullen appearance.

"Aren't you interested in knowing what exactly it is that your tarnished hero's done?" He smiled at Dean's scowl, "It's a doozy."

Sam rested his head in his hands before swallowing. "What?"

"Dean here took a woman, an average lady destined to have two point five kids, a demanding job, and an abusive husband. He snapped her neck and ripped her throat open like a hinged door, spinal chord through peachy flesh and all. He literally ripped her head off with his bare hands – or came close enough anyway," He seemed somewhat amused yet somewhat angered by the successful purging of his spawn.

"I don't believe you," Sam spat in anger.

"Doesn't stop it from being true now, does it?"

"He wouldn't—"

"It's true," Dean's familiar voice, tainted by an eerie echo of the demon's spoke, "I killed her, Sam, I killed her."

Sam's molars didn't part as he shook with anger. He gripped the wheel with his free hand, unaware of how white his knuckles had become from such a tight clasp.

Dean scowled at the demon's words. His shoulder, set back in place, throbbed dimly. The pains he felt were a distant concern as he listened to the thing he hated most in the world taunt his brother with his own voice.

"But you know what it's like to watch the light go out in someone's eyes though, don't you Sammy?"

"You bastard," Dean bared his teeth, unable to keep himself quiet any longer. He knew how much it hurt Sam to remember the ruthless act he committed while possessed. The smile on the demon's face only grew.

"You should have been able to stop yourself." Sam could hardly take the harshness in what only sounded like Dean's voice, even if he knew it wasn't really his brother's. "Dad even held _him_ off," the demon continued to assume Dean's identity, "but you just couldn't handle it, could you?"

"I swear I'll tear you to shreds for this!" Dean's threat was just loud enough for Sam to hear through the relatively clear connection, but he couldn't help but look to his lap in anger and shame without saying a word in protest to what the demon accused.

"Do you know how many times I've risked my life to save your pathetic ass?" The amusement in his voice was hidden by the sudden burst of anger, "Do you know how close I've come to losing it?" He paused to silence Dean's enraged shouts of protest with a wave of his finger. Dean's jaw clenched as his mouth was clamped shut by an invisible force. He continued to writhe in fury against his restraints.

"You're weak, Sammy. You couldn't save Jessica," his tone became even crueler, "You can't even save yourself. And deep down, you know you can't save you brother, no matter how desperately you really need him," he paused for a moment, "I'll even tell you where he's at, but you know you won't make it in time."

Dean's vision swam at the thought of Sam coming to the hell he was in.

_Don't come._

"Where?" Sam finally spoke, unsure of whether he was angrier at the demon or himself. He knew it was a trap. He was sure he could hear Dean telling him how stupid he was to go, but he had to. He listened ruefully to the demon's instructions. He swallowed the insults he had for the continuous use of his brother's voice as he spoke once more.

"By the way, Sam," the demon grinned to Dean, "how'd you like that last vision?" He snapped the phone in half and let it fall. He turned to face Dean's wide-eyed and angry expression, fully aware of what Sam's vision always depicted, "Don't worry, Dean. Sammy's day dream of a vision is nothing compared to the real nightmare I have planned for you."


	5. Chapter 5

_Don't confuse yourself, this chapter is largely made up of a flashback. I love flashbacks.. ::dreamy expression::  
This is my favorite chapter and I really hope you enjoy it as well.  
__And thanks so much for the reviews, thery really mean a lot to me! Keep 'em coming!_

"Sam!"

Dean's chest felt cold and hollow aside from the melodic drum of his fast paced heart. He whirled, taking in his surroundings in search for someone he wasn't sure he'd be able to find in time. The blade in his grasp shook as his hand did in fear for his brother.

"Sammy!"

He had gone without Sam to find the locals' 'indescribable monster' that supposedly resided in the lake and more recently any water deep enough to take someone under. At first Dean had been skeptical about there even being a threat, but his father had convinced him otherwise. Lo and behold, two days into researching and another local was found dead—what was left of him anyway. It was a water demon of sorts, that much they were sure of, but the descriptions offered were too fuzzy to make a clear cut call at what kind. Dean didn't need a name though; all he needed was a weapon. He could handle a water demon. So when a more alarming amount of supernatural activity struck a town some fifty miles away, Dean was told to stay put and finish the hunt while John and Sam went ahead. Sam on the other hand had no intention of going anywhere with his father without Dean and refused to move from his position behind the eldest brother that night in the hotel, despite the empty threats from his father and whispered nudges from his brother. He kept his ground, dark eyes glowering intently through his untamed locks and over his brother's protective shoulder.

"I'm not leaving," Sam spat, crossing his arms in strong resignation for a fifteen year old. He glanced to his older brother, able to make out his leveled jaw as he stood barely an inch taller than himself between their angry father and Sam, "not without Dean."

"I can handle myself and you know it," Dean whispered sharply in defense, looking intensely to his brother with shocking green eyes. He spoke softly, not wanting to shout like his brother and father already were, "Just go and I'll catch up."

"No," he barely glanced at Dean, but it was enough to show him the real meaning behind his desperation to stay. There was no way in hell Sam was going anywhere alone with their dad; not a chance. Dean gave in to his brother's pleading look, incapable of defeating his beseeching eyes.

Dean hated to admit it, but they simply didn't get along -- actually, they tended to hate each other from time to time -- and Dean always had to step between them to prevent a parade of fists from either his brother or their father. He knew their dad meant well and loved Sam, probably more than he loved Dean even; he just lost his temper when Sam pushed him sometimes. It wasn't either one's fault. It was more or less the result of two of the most obstinate men alive living together for too long -- even if it was a rare occasion that they shared a room together longer than a few weeks. Even so, Dean knew not to test their dad's temper as much as Sam was starting to now. He'd felt the extent of it once before in the form of a solid punch to the jaw when stepping between the two during a particular tussle and didn't have much of a desire to feel it again. He knew he would if it came down to it though, he always did.

"Get in the damn car," John's voice rose through his teeth as he glared over his eldest son's shoulder towards Sam, "Now."

"I said—" Dean elbowed him before he could finish, his brother-senses tingling at the possibility of a full on brawl.

"It's cool, Dad," he gave him the charming smile that was classic of Dean, "I can keep an eye on him while you take care of the nasty." Dean attempted a hasty excuse, "Besides, he'll just get in your way." He ignored his brother's exhaled sigh of anger at the last remark, "We'll grab a car and meet up with you by the end of the week, no sweat."

Dean noted his dad's hand tightening into a fist as he braced, planting his feet and silently broadening his shoulders in front of Sam with his chin raised for good measure. Sam shuffled behind him, fully aware of Dean's new stance. He would take a hit if he had to. Sam was too set on staying to end the argument on a happy note anyway.

"Fine," John hoisted his duffle to his shoulder and tried not to look worried as he gave a final stare down with Sam before giving an unpleased look to Dean and turning his back, "You two watch out for each other." He directed his final statement to Dean's unspoken obligation to protect his brother at all costs. John had always been more wary of Sam than Dean. He slammed the door without a second look, leaving the two Winchesters alone. Dean remained tense for a moment, expecting his dad to storm back in, before allowing his shoulders to relax.

"You owe me big, Sammy," Dean said light-heartedly with a pat to his brother's shoulder, "and I mean big."

Sam only grinned and sprawled lazily across the musty comforter, already reaching for his recently packed bag, pleased by the need to unpack it. "No," he corrected, "we're even for that incident with that waitress in Tampa Dad won't have the pleasure of hearing about."

Dean smirked as he rummaged through his duffle bag across the room with his back to Sam. He stopped to stare at the wall and listen to his dad's car pull out of the mostly empty parking lot. He couldn't hide a twinge of foreboding he felt as the engine died off away from the hotel, "Hey, Sam?"

"Hmm?" Sam had already switched the television on to break the silence and sat propped against the headboard with a book open in his lap.

"Promise to do what I say on this one, okay?" He looked back to the duffle bag, "I won't have you getting hurt because of me."

He looked up from his book, red in the face, "Dean, I'm—"

"And I don't want to hear your 'I'm not a kid' speech," he snapped back seriously, "it's not about that. It's about me keeping you alive. Stay out of the line of fire and behind me, and if I tell you to stay, you better damn well stay. You wanted to stay with me and that's fine, but I'm not going to have anything happening to you on my hands, got it?"

Sam considered his words for a moment before nodding silently.

"Besides," Dean threw the snickers bar he had been hunting for in the bag to Sam who caught it before it could slam into his head, "if anything does happen it's my ass, not yours."

"SAM!"

The echo of Dean's panicked voice filled the barren shore of the lake. He ran his free hand through his short hair, looking to his left and then his right for any sign of his brother before heading down the stony beach. He ran, glancing back and forth from the direction he was heading to the wooded area on his right. Why didn't he stay by the car like he told him to?

After several minutes of constant running, he spotted him sitting on a pier that jutted into deep waters; just sitting, legs hanging over the murky water in leisure. Dean slowed to a stop to catch his breath and let his heart regain its steady pace. Sam was fine. He had taken a walk, that was all. He wiped his face, already feeling his anxiousness being replaced by anger. He was definitely going to kick Sam's ass.

"Sam," Dean called when he was in earshot. He took comfort in the look of shock and embarrassment on Sam's face as he scrambled to his feet as if a soldier caught violating his duties. Before he could say anything Dean finished his sentence, "Yeah, I got back early."

Sam stood near the ledge to face Dean who was already walking down the pier. He bit his lip, angry at leaving the car and disobeying another order, especially one from his brother. He could tell Dean was shaken even from this far away, though he knew Dean would never admit it.

Suddenly his expression changed.

"Sam, get away from the water!" Dean was rushing to his brother before the words had a chance to reach him, but it was too late. Sam froze before reacting, hesitating just long enough for the spindly green hand to wrap around his ankle and dig its nails in. Sam shrieked as he was yanked from his feet to the wooded dock. His body barely felt the impact as he was slammed into the solid planks before he was yanked, nails bleeding as he dug into the splintering wood in an attempt to free himself, into the water.

Dean hit the surface seconds later, diving down against the water that stung his eyes. It was too murky to see anything but the misty shadow of forms. He frantically turned, desperate to find his brother who he could hear through his rushing sound of water in his ears shouting muffled cries somewhere nearby. A solid object made contact with his face, and much to the attacker's surprise Dean took the opportunity to yank its arm towards him. Close up he could see Sam thrashing ruthlessly against the creature that gripped him strongly by the hair. Dean instinctively thrust the blade he still held firmly in his hand to the wrist that held his brother. It let out a cry and released Sam, giving him a chance to swim to the surface for air. Before Dean had the opportunity to do the same, the water demon wrapped its claws around his throat and started to dive, foolishly forgetting the curved knife that Dean still clung to. He gagged, trying not to take in water, lungs burning, and thrust the glinting blade into its chest. It released his throat only to rip its claws into his shoulder and down his arm, flailing through its pain. He grit his teeth in pain but managed to yank his knife from the creature's chest to where its collar bone should have been and out, creating a solid line of crimson that separated its shoulder from its body and filled his eyesight with the dark color of its blood mingled with his own. It released its claws, dead, and ceased to move anywhere but to the bottom of the lake.

Dean swam hard and fast with his remaining strength to the surface, receiving help from Sam who had swum down several feet to do what he could. They broke the surface seconds later, gasping for air and slowly made their way to the shore where they both collapsed, exhausted by the struggle that had taken place in such a short amount of time. Dean coughed up a fair amount of water before sitting next to Sam feet from the water's edge, breathing heavily. He ignored intense sting of his arm to examine Sam's paled face face, holding it in his hands and turning it this way then that. He frowned at the wince Sam gave as his thumb grazed a particular gash from his meeting with the dock. He regretted not killing the thing more slowly.

Dean stood and roughly pulled Sam to his own feet by the collar, "How could you be so stupid?" He pushed his sibling back a few feet, too upset to keep his mouth shut, "I told you to stay by the car while I was gone and you wandered off like you always do after telling me you would listen to what I said this time. Have you got any idea how worried I was back there? Do you know how close a call that was? How close you came to—" he swallowed, trying to hold back the salty tears he could see swelling in his brother's eyes as he looked down and away from Dean's eyes, "I don't know what I would have done if you—"

Sam stood shivering, soaked to the bone in front of Dean, taking in every word in shame with his head down. His hands shook with the dull pain that still plagued them as blood dripped thickly from his fingertips. He licked his lips and pulled his aching hands into fists; they were nothing compared to the grisly state of Dean's arm that bled through his drenched and shredded sleeve.

Dean spotted the small drizzle of crimson that escaped through the cracks of Sam's fingers and noticed his shaking form. He swore he heard him try to sniff away a sob. Sam was freaked. He was freaked to hell and Dean had just yelled at him like it was his fault. Without a word he pulled Sam gently by the shoulders and into his arms, holding him in a firm embrace. Sam clung to his brother's back with his face buried in his uninjured shoulder and mumbled apologies one after the other before admitting his fear. Dean just wrapped his throbbing arm tighter around his back and held Sam's head against his shoulder with his other hand, stroking his dripping hair with his thumb. "I've gotcha, Sammy, I'm not going anywhere." He whispered reassuringly as he rested his cheek against his brother's head and allowed a single tear to break the dam, "I've got you. I've always got you."

---

Dean opened his eyes to stare gloomily at the floor, allowing himself to hang limp, concentrating on nothing in particular to rid himself of the pain in his cramped shoulders. His entire left side had dulled to nothing more than a fiery sensation if it remained undisturbed. He was fairly sure it was infected by now anyway. Still, he let himself smile a little at the memory of one of the last hugs he'd ever shared with his little brother and regretted his strict rule of 'no chick flick moments' that he had enforced over the past two years. He even thought the fights Sam and their dad used to blow out of proportion were something worth being missed.

The sound of footsteps drawing close to the door interrupted his quiet mulling. He frowned as he thought of what he had told Sam that day. That he wasn't going anywhere; that he had him, and he always would. He pursed his lips against the new kind of pain in his chest and the lump in his throat in vain. A tear leaked from the corner of his eye and left a salty trail down his cheek. He choked back a sob as the door groaned from the rusted hinges being opened.

"I'm sorry, Sammy," he whispered through his tears, "I'm sorry."


	6. Chapter 6

_Not my favorite chapter, but useful in relating Dean and Sam's moods to their situations.  
This is just the beginning to what's coming in chapter seven._

Remember to leave me some reviews!!

The image of the peeling gray wall wavered, threatening to disappear into the speckled dots that invaded Dean's already swimming vision. He coughed, angry at the fresh taste of copper filling his mouth and drizzling from the corner of his lips. He let his head drop back to his chest, too tired to resist the beating he expected to continue. He wasn't bound to the ceiling anymore, but he knew there was no escape after only the third time he felt his head jar against the wall; and then the fourth, the fifth. He eventually lost count. His chest heaved, wracking his lungs with unbearable pain with each shallow breath he took.

"Payback's a bitch," Meg's new voice filtered through Dean's nausea as she whispered in his ear, straddling his slumped form.

"And I thought it was just you," he said gravelly with a meek smile.

She grasped his shoulders, digging her fingertips deep into the skin, savoring the quiet wince he desperately tried to hide before slamming his head into the wall once more. "Keep sweet talking me, baby," she smiled as he fought the darkness she could see clouding his eyes. She held her hand to the back of his head, taking a handful of sticky hair, wet with blood. "I haven't even started yet," she whined, leaning her sparkling new face closer to his, "but it's nothing compared to what I'm going to do to Sammy."

Dean forced his eyes open to hers, lifting his head in resentment, leaning closer than he'd like to with a renewed hatred welling under the surface, "Stay the fuck away from my brother," his voice broke, cracked by the pure rage pumping through his veins. No way was he letting this bitch touch his brother; _his_ Sam. No fucking way.

She just smiled her menacing smile, "Or what?" She shoved herself up, off of Dean's unmoving form propped against the wall. She threw her hands up in a mock of fear, "You'll kill me?" He looked away, biting his tongue, trying to keep the knot in his stomach from growing. She stopped a few paces in front of the door and spoke with a cool voice, "Do you think you could even look at yourself after doing it once?" She looked over her shoulder to smile, "Could Sam?"

Dean refused to look at her cold, black eyes. He pressed his lips together, loosing the battle within to control the emotions he had kept in check for all these years.

"But don't worry Dean," Meg's casual tone nearly sent him over the edge, "he won't have time to be disappointed in his brother. He'll be too busy choking on his own blood, watching you do nothing to stop it." Her hand rested on the door as she continued before Dean had the chance to respond, "'Cause I'll be sure it's nice and slow so he can get a good look at how worthless you really are."

The door slammed, leaving Dean alone with the echo of his strained voice screaming an incoherent threat of rage that faded to a low sob. He let himself slide down the wall to his side, unaware of the small trail of blood he left smeared against it. He coughed bitterly, resting his head against the cool floor, fighting to keep his shudders under control to no avail. His ribs pulsated painfully, making it difficult to take the shallow, raspy breaths he would have struggled with anyway. The recent encounter with Meg left his shoulder boiling with hot pain accompanied by fresh blood seeping through the remaining cloth that covered it; he was vaguely aware of the unhealthy amount of blood loss he had. He could barely bend his fingers without feeling the repercussions in his wound. He tried to ignore the sticky substance he knew to be his own blood pooling beneath his cheek as a heavy blackness began to creep into his vision, relieving a small fraction of the indescribable pain in his undoubtedly cracked skull. He was done holding on to the land of the conscious. The only thing rooting him there were the thoughts of his brother. His unprotected, utterly alone, little brother.

"Damn it, Sammy," he let himself whisper aloud, wishing he could see him one more time; wishing most of all that he wouldn't come. He glared accusingly at the door separating him from freedom and from Sam, regretting all the things he never said. He tried assuring himself that he would get around to opening up whenever Sam decided to prod him next, to pay attention when he tried to help him. Hell, he'd even stop cracking psychic jokes. Mostly he'd blurt out how much he cared, how grateful he was for Sam's constant parade of annoying questions and worried glances he didn't know Dean always noticed. He tried to tell himself he would, that he could still manage to survive to spend hours on the road with Sam griping about how rotten Dean's music choice was. He had a job to do after all, a brother to watch out for; he couldn't die yet.

His empty assurances did little to ease the sinking feeling he had but he couldn't bring himself to admitting that he probably wouldn't make it through this one, if only for the sake of his brother. Salty tears stung the new cuts covering the clammy skin on his face, blurring his vision even more than the growing number of spots had. Sam was walking straight into this one and he knew it. If he were in Sam's shoes he'd probably be there sooner, ready to break down the front door if it meant getting to his brother sooner and he hated Sam for it; hated the demon more than anything for dragging his baby brother into this. His last thoughts before his eyelids grew too heavy to handle and unconsciousness sunk in were of his brother and praying silently for him to keep himself safe.

_Don't come._

---

Sam drummed his thumbs nervously on the steering wheel and accelerated, trying to keep his heart rate down. This was not the time to have a breakdown. Dean didn't have much time, if he had any at all. The demon's voice rang in his ears, "you won't make it in time." He shook his head to clear his mind, almost forgetting he was thirty miles over the speed limit and in the middle of a not-so-legal turn. The tires skid, burning rubber as Sam struggled to keep the Impala on the road. Dean would have his ass for this if he was still alive. No, not if; Dean was going to be alive and kicking, smart mouthing and swearing, cocky and confident when Sam arrived. Dean was still alive. He had to be. Sam swallowed the lump in his throat, reminding himself a second time that this was not the time for a breakdown.

He glanced quickly at a road sign as he sped by, calculating the miles he had left to cover. Hours' worth of constant driving presented itself to Sam. It would be nearly a day before he reached the tiny town the demon had instructed him on. The word instructed left a sickly taste in Sam's mouth and an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach. He knew it was a trap, but he continued running, driving ninety to nothing, straight into it; he grinded his molars, not caring one way or the other. He had to get to his brother. If it meant running into a trap that he knew Dean would do in a heart beat, then so be it.

Sam was ignorant of the silent prayers from his brother to do the exact opposite and turn back, away from the danger and away from Dean. He accelerated, anxiety peaking.

_Hold on, Dean. I'm coming._

---

Dean stared blankly at the familiar demon, tired of listening, tired of being incapable of stopping anything. He had awoken to a kick to the ribs several minutes earlier. Ouch didn't even begin to cover it. The demon had freaking ranted; was still ranting, talking about plans and the meaninglessness of Dean. He only raised his head protectively when Sam's name was mentioned. Dean let his head slip back down, too exhausted to care what he had to say. He was vaguely aware of the threats he received from the relatively stupid move of ignoring a demon, but was too far gone to fully acknowledge them or really care. His face was beaded with a cold sweat. He shivered, despite the temperature of the room he knew to be warmer, feeling the full effect of his multiple wounds.

"You always were the dumb one," his voice was cold, amused.

"Bronze over brains," Dean mumbled sarcastically in response, trying to smile, not expecting the sudden burst of pain as he was pulled by unseen forces to his feet and pressed against the wall. The yellow eyed possessed man lifted a hand in front of Dean's face, smiling a toothy grin at his pained expression. Dean attempted to move, tilting his head back against the wall, unable to move beyond the single action.

"Son of a bitch," he groaned thickly, fighting to regain a steady breathing pattern. "Injury to insult is so not necessary," he slurred necessary, loosing the consciousness battle fast.

"Probably not," he replied calmly; unnervingly. He held his hand up with a sudden interest in his fingers, curling them to a fist and then relaxing them. His yellow eyes turned back to Dean's, his hand inches from the Winchester's face. A blue spark emitted from his hand, pulsing between his fingers almost hungrily.

"Did that stupidity induced electrocution hurt?" he asked, eying his hand with admiration, referring to the time Dean had nearly died, should have died, from an accidental electrocution. Dean didn't respond, just watched the demon turning his hand one way, then another, the blue flicker dancing between his fingers. Electrocution was not on his list of things to experience more than once. Dean swallowed, fear momentarily lingering in his eyes. "It won't compare to this." He pressed his hand to the side of Dean's head before he had time to draw a breath.

Dean couldn't hear his mangled screams filling the room with a shrill echo, didn't feel the impact of the concrete floor as the demon allowed his body to fall, crouching down to clutch the other side of his head with another hand. His jaw clenched, teeth bared, as his back arched, incapable of taking the pain. His body screamed with white hot fire charring his insides and burning his skin as he remained silent, no longer able to scream. His arms thrashed helplessly, tearing at the hands gripping the sides of his head, drawing blood with no effect.

The demon only squeezed tighter.

Dean writhed. His eyes rolled beneath his tightly shut eyelids. Energy pumped into his consciousness, searing his veins and puncturing his blood vessels. He felt the singe through his teeth and the overwhelming pain coursing through his head. He felt it all. His muscles were taut, stretched to their limit and beyond as he continued twisting through the pain, incapable of controlling a bone in his body. All he knew was the pain, the blinding pain that wreaked havoc on his forcefully conscious form. He couldn't even scream to voice his anguish, unaware of the blood leaking steadily from his eyes, his ears, his mouth, his nose. His lungs were useless, preventing his body from gulping the air it so desperately needed until he was incapable of even thrashing against the agony, too close to fading than the searing in his body would admit as pain continued to rack through it.

Then it was over.

He didn't feel his head connect with the floor, his breathing coming in shallow rasps that came farther and farther apart. He didn't notice the amount of blood that drizzled from the corner of his mouth as his eyes began to glaze. His chest barely rose and fell with a breath so shallow he didn't appear to be alive at all. All he noticed was the sudden enclosure of darkness; the darkest darkness he'd ever seen, taking away everything he held protectively in his mind, his memory, his heart. Everything was pouring out, leaving him empty and barren; alone inside the dark.

**Preview for what's coming in chapter seven :  
**  
A voice somewhere far away from the dreaded blanket of black called to him, a familiar voice filled with a love Dean never thought he'd live to feel again. He followed it, chased it, fought back the darkness with an unmasked need for it; an unbearable need for Sam.


	7. Chapter 7

_Thanks so much for all of the amazing reviews! I'm so glad that you all enjoy my story and I hope that I can continue keeping it up! This chapter should be a bit suspenseful._

A voice somewhere far away from the dreaded blanket of black called to him, a familiar voice filled with a love Dean never thought he'd live to feel again. He followed it, chased it, fought back the darkness with an unmasked need for it; an unbearable need for Sam.

Dean's eyes stayed close, denying him the ability of sight. He struggled to rise from the ground, still blinded by a shroud of darkness that forced his eyes to remain shut. He wanted to stay down, to rest, to breathe, to fade, but he swore he heard Sam's voice calling out to him. He couldn't deny his brother, no matter how much it hurt, he couldn't ignore Sammy's pleading voice laced with grief, concern, and comfort.

"Dean?"

Sam's voice broke the wall separating Dean from reality and the darkness, pulling him to the surface, holding tight and not letting go. His eyes fluttered, taking in light and a spinning world of doubles before forcing themselves shut against Dean's will. He raised his head, expecting the lurch he felt in his stomach, but not the hand that settled gently on his chest to keep him down. He winced before he could stop himself, ribs screaming, his many wounds waking up from their sleepy states to torture him with renewed pain, and the hand was gone. His heart skipped a beat; the walls were mending themselves, ripping Dean away as fast as he'd come. Why was it gone?

"Dean?" Sam was louder, firmer. It shook all the same.

Dean managed to control his eyelids, forcing them open, forcing the world to stop spinning. His brother's face swam in front of his own, spots dancing in his vision of Sam. He would have sung if his quaking lungs would have allowed it. His brother was alive, crouching above him, trying to smile.

"Hey, Sammy," he smiled a soft smile, barely managing to keep it plastered on his face, too relieved to notice how hard it was to even grin. His voice was low and gruff, almost too quiet to hear, but Sam's own smile grew a little, never reaching his unbearably saddened eyes.

Dean pressed his palms down and began lifting himself to sitting position against the wall with his right side before Sam could reach out to stop him. He swatted Sam's hand away, gritting his teeth in anguish behind his pursed lips, not wanting Sam to know how badly it hurt to move. He rested his head against the wall, letting his eyes close as he collected himself, breathing heavily, each gasp of air bitterly stinging his lungs. He stayed silent for a while, eating up seconds he didn't realize had passed before his head lolled back to his chest.

"Dean," Sam's hands were on him before he could slip away, pulling Dean's head up as gently as he could, "Dean, you gotta stay awake." It wasn't a request, it was an order.

Dean's deep green eyes opened again, traveling to Sam's. He nodded, fighting back the black edges in his vision. He raised his right hand, unable to make much use of his left, to Sam's face the same way he held Dean's. Blood caked Sam's face, still leaking from a gash above his brow, his lip was split and he leaned heavily on his left leg, treating his right gingerly. Dean noticed Sam's foot barely grazing the ground. He looked back to Sam's eyes, anger rising in his voice, worry overpowering him, "What did they do?"

"It's just a sprain," Sam frowned, obviously upset that Dean was worrying about his minor injuries over the countless that plagued Dean.

The sudden realization of what Sam's being there meant threatened to send the world spiraling out of control in Dean's eyes as he felt his heart rate pick up, panic gripping his insides. Dean was already using Sam as a prop to lift himself to his feet, staggering with his weight, "Sam," He grunted, not allowing him to protest Dean trying to stand in his current state and continued, letting his voice rise, "she's going to kill you."

Sam didn't argue, just put an arm around Dean's waist to keep him from falling as his knees buckled and Sam supported him more than Dean liked. He tried to stand on his own before realizing the uselessness of such a move and leaned heavily against his brother.

"Who's going to kill me?"

"Meg, she —" Dean looked incredulously at Sam. "You didn't know she was here?" His head hurt like hell, and this wasn't helping. "She didn't even -- but she should have, she said she'd --" He glared at Sam's quizzical expression, laced with his own anger. "We really gotta go." If she hadn't gone after him yet it meant she was keeping her word that he would have to watch. He clenched his jaw; the only thing he would be watching was the road and this place shrinking in the rearview mirror. He was getting his brother out of there.

"Meg is here?" Sam's expression darkened. He held Dean with a firm grip as they started towards the door, Dean barely managing, hating himself for it, and Sam ignoring the throbbing in his leg to keep himself from limping. Dean looked at his brother's face with sympathy and a deeper hatred for Meg. Sam still had the pain in his eyes from what Meg had done with his hands while possessing him.

"Yeah," he nodded, unable to find anything else to say.

Sam released Dean, making sure he could stand on his own with the help of the wall as they rounded a corner, Sam in front, gun in hand, ready to fire. Dean watched his brother's eyes skim the dingy hallway with the precision only a hunter could possess before reaching out to Dean, never taking his eyes off the space ahead. Dean shoved off the wall, pushing Sam's arm away, able to walk on his own with his adrenaline peaked. Sam's heavy eyes darted to Dean's before looking back to what he faced. They didn't have time to argue over what Dean should and shouldn't be doing.

They crept along in silence, Dean taking everything in for the first time, having only seen the rooms he had woken in, and Sam knowing which entrances to take, weaving through rooms that seemed illogically placed. Neither brother said a word for fear of being discovered as Sam poked his head through another opening and motioned for Dean to follow. They moved slower than Dean wanted, but steadily. Stairs proved to be a problem for the elder Winchester, but with the unasked for assistance of Sam they managed. Sam warned him of the first floor being nothing but storage, a massive room filled with crates of god knew what. The exposure of a single enclosure was the thing to worry about; less opportunity to hide if occasion called for it and Dean was sure it would. They moved cautiously from the narrow stairwell room, winding in and out of isles made by crates and other objects covered by dusting sheets without a sound.

The disturbing silence was interrupted by the unmistakable sound of metal scraping against wood, probably one of the crates.

"How exactly did you say you managed to get past these guys again?" Dean whispered, stepping in front of Sam, instinctively falling into protective mode.

Sam immediately grabbed him by his uninjured shoulder, using Dean's weakness to pull him back, briefly glaring at his stupidity before turning back to the direction the noise had come from. "Later," he hissed, seeing Dean's obvious offense to having been pulled aside so easily.

Before either brother could prepare, they were forced from their feet and propelled through the air to the far side of the room. Dean slammed into the concrete wall with a dull thud just as Sam connected to his immediate left. He slid down, gasping for air that wouldn't come, blinded by the pain that sent shock waves through his body. Sam coughed, winded but otherwise fine. He shook his head before pulling himself up to limp to Dean who had yet to recover from the pain that engulfed him. He put a hand to Dean's and pressed his brother's hand to the wounded shoulder, open and draining blood. Crimson leaked between Dean's fingers as Sam pressed his brother's palm to the sticky hole. Dean's vision swallowed his brother's face with black from the stab he felt as Sam pressed against his hand, forcing it over the wound. Beneath the voice screaming for him to stop in his mind he knew he would bleed out if it continued to spill blood. Sam would be damned if Dean made it this long just to die a few feet away from freedom. He removed his palm, pleased to see Dean's hand remaining, his eyes shut and jaw clenched, but his hand pressed firmly to the wound.

Footsteps pulled Sam away. He searched anxiously for a weapon, his gun lost during his recent flight through the air. His hand finally fell upon a sturdy metal rod jutting from a crack between crates. He tugged, desperate for a weapon to ward against the evil coming their way. It broke free, revealing a pointed edge and allowing him to reposition himself closer to Dean. He stood between his brother and the wall of crates, eyeing the end, anticipating the demon.

Dean's eyes burned, determined to stay tightly closed as if it would take away a portion of the pain shuddering through his body. Dean's concern for Sam however, was stronger than his own needs. He glared angrily up at Sam hovering over him, back turned, legs firm and ready. He sported a rod as a weapon. Dean wanted to kick his knees out at the sight and scream for him to get his ass away. Instead he groaned; his head was too dizzy to voice a coherent word to his brother. He focused on keeping his eyes open, willing himself to gather his strength to help Sam.

"Hey, Sammy," a voice called out from around the corner, just out of sight. It was low, casual; deadly. "I've been wanting a chance to catch up on old times."

Dean almost growled in response to his brother's name, rage flowing through his throbbing veins. The only thing keeping him from knocking himself out by pushing his body past its limits was Sam's voice snapping back.

"It's Sam."

Dean glowered behind his brother, agreeing with his statement, proud that Sam had made it. He tried rolling his shoulders against the searing pain, wanting, needing his body to move. It struggled under the command of Dean's motivated conscious but complied. The pain however, gave no mercy and began ravaging Dean's every fiber, forcing the whimper of a moan to pass his lips. Sam flinched at the sound of Dean's suffering but he remained focused on the form that had finally made its way into his sights.

A woman walked casually out of the shadows cast by the towering crates with a bone chilling smile and colorless, black eyes. Sam didn't hesitate, afraid of losing his chance if he waited for her to exert herself. He charged, swiping the metal at incalculable speed. She reacted, barely staggering out of his reach before having it connect with the back of her head, forcing her hand to release her own knife that was quickly kicked away, hidden by crates. Sam twisted, avoiding her eyes for fear of what they would do once settled, and swung his weapon a third time, this time taking her knees.

Dean was halfway to his feet, screaming the moves for Sam to make in his head, unfazed by the fact that Sam's body consented to his brother's unvoiced commands. They had similar instincts and the Winchester's knew it; it had saved their lives on innumerable occasions. Dean's vision threatened to fade. He cursed himself, clinging closely to the wall, willing his eyes to stay focused just a while longer. He returned his attention back to his brother and straightened himself, ready to enter the struggle.

Sam growled, as he finished using his strength to take the seemingly average woman he knew to be demon possessed to the ground. She collapsed, landing harshly on her knees in such a way Sam was certain an average human would scream; one of her kneecaps had obviously cracked with the impact of the cement. He raised the rod, ready to strike again.

"My turn," she raised her head to face Sam, a grin spread wide across her face.

Before Sam could react to the change in events he was stuck hard in the jaw by a right hook that sent him sprawling, momentarily suspended in air by the unnatural force of the blow. He landed in a heap of discarded objects, painfully prodded by the sharp corners of some of them in his already bruising back. He coughed, the breath knocked from his lungs.

"Sammy!" Dean's voice broke through the fog that seemed to scatter his brother's brain; a warning.

Sam responded to Dean's command. He rolled, narrowly escaping a wooden box twice his size that had been hurled towards him, bent on taking out the youngest Winchester. He rolled, frantic to regain his balance before Meg made a second move. He raised his eyes just in time to see the sole of the shoe that connected with his chest, pushing him back against the wall before he had a chance to counter. The metallic shaft clanged as it hit the ground, Sam's hand having lost its grip. Meg bent to grab it, ready to return the makeshift weapon to its owner in a different way than it had gone when something connected with her back. She was sent tumbling to her side before she had the chance to inflict further harm to the hunter in front of her. Dean rolled to his feet, fighting the unbearable forces in his body to stay awake, to keep on his feet, and to protect his brother. His shoulder screamed, having just hit the floor when he had rushed the demon. His legs buckled against his will, sending him down to his knees several feet from his brother. Sam was already standing, trying to calculate a plan and keep himself rooted between Dean, who was obviously hurt too badly to continue his previous attack, and Meg.

Before he could move, Dean felt himself being lifted to the wall and slammed painfully against the concrete once again, questioning how many times he could continue to take the familiar abuse. He tried to gasp, having heard the whooshing sound of air leaving his lungs, but could only struggle to keep his eyes open. Sam turned, tearing his eyes from his attacker to meet his brother's with concern etched deep in his gaze. Dean fought against the invisible bonds crushing him to the wall, gaping like a fish in an attempt to tell his brother to turn around. Sam's eyes recognized Dean's and received the message. He turned to face Meg, the connection with his brother having only lasted a second at the most, too late to prevent her final blow.

"NO!"

Sam heard the gut wrenching sound of flesh being penetrated with a sickening squish as it dug deeper into its new sheath before he felt it. He staggered back, unable to keep his chest from heaving, the raspy gasps from shaking through his teeth, or the tears that leaked from his wandering eyes inside. The sound was repeated as the rusted weapon was yanked heatedly from his stomach, forcing a hollow moan to escape his lips. He blanched, looking questioningly from Meg who had already begun to triple in his eyesight, her pearly teeth taunting him, to the rod in her hand that was stained with a sticky substance Sam knew to be his own, to the new hole in his abdomen, just below his right ribs and the blood that guzzled from the entry wound. He attempted to pull himself away from Meg to his brother somewhere behind him, but his feet could only stumble, his body no longer his. His vision swam, his eyes desperately searching for Dean, before he buckled under his own weight and sank to his knees.

"SAMMY!" Dean's voice echoed through the warehouse, full of emotion and unwavering love for his brother as he watched Sam slip silently to his side.

_Try not to hate me too much, I already hate myself enough for writing this!  
I'm aiming to have chapter eight up by Sunday night or Monday morning, so be ready!_


	8. Chapter 8

**Warning: May cause water works.**

**To the Reviewers: **  
_Thank you so, so much for all of the reviews. Im trying to respond to most of them but have a funny feeling that those responses arent going anywhere. This makes me sad. But I really would like to thank all of you, I read them all and especially love those long ones that give me insight and detailed reviews. thanks so much, keep them up!!_

---

Dean didn't hear the resounding echo of the shaft as it hit the ground a second time, staining the surrounding concrete with droplets of Sam's blood. He didn't acknowledge Meg's retreat, calm and steady with a faint whisper of a laugh on her tongue, mocking the scene behind her. His brother's name, still echoing throughout the large enclosure faded with the last cry too soft for anyone to have made out as more than a lonely sob. The only thing Dean could hear as the force holding him to the wall began to release its grip was the sound of his own heart beating too loud and too fast, drowning out the one he needed to hear most; Sam's.

His knees connected harshly with the ground before sending the rest of his throbbing body after it, barely managing to brace himself with his palms before his left side gave out. Somehow Dean forced himself to his right side before his shoulder could bring him to the ground and another second further from being with his brother. He scrambled to Sam's side, unprepared for the unbearable knot in his stomach, the intensity of his pulse pounding in his ears as a reminder of how much more life he had than Sam, or the magnitude of pain that threatened to rip his chest to shreds the second he saw Sam's unmoving form.

"Sammy?" Dean's voice was too soft, too broken, too tainted by fear to reach anything above a hollowed whisper. "Oh God."

Dean's hand snaked its way gently beneath Sam's shoulder, quickly repositioning him into the crook of his elbow and into his lap. His stomach lurched at the sight of Sam's head rolling lifelessly towards Dean at the sudden movement, resting against his older brother's chest without a sound. He forced his left hand to move against the steaming pain, ghosting over the growing stain on Sam's stomach before pressing lightly against it, almost afraid to try to stop the bleeding, afraid to have no need to. He managed to brace Sam's limp form against his chest as he dragged himself and his brother to the wall a few feet away. He stopped with his back against the cruel surface with Sam leaning heavily against him, his head resting almost peacefully against Dean's shoulder. With his new position he could keep his left hand firmly pressed against his brother's wound and hold Sam's face with his right, cradling his jaw to face him. Sam's heavy eyes didn't meet Dean's desperate gaze, but remained closed, his mouth slightly agape, a thin line of crimson creeping from the corner.

"Sam?" Dean's voice shook, coming out as more of a sob than a whisper, "Come on, Sammy." He failed to control the tears that welled in his searching eyes, hating how they clouded his brother's face. He felt for a pulse, terrified of what he would find, "Wake up." He wished he could be relieved by the irregular throb of Sam's pulse but could only focus on the inevitability of such a weakened beat and caught himself choking back a sob as he took his brother's face in his hand a second time, pressing it gently against his chest to hold him closer. "Sammy, wake up."

Sam's eyes fluttered, homing into Dean's desperation, everything too sluggish to make sense of as if he were crushed by the weight of rushing waters that pulled him helplessly away from his brother. He managed to catch sight of the blotchy figure that had to be Dean looking down on him. Sam's eyes searched for Dean's as if searching for an answer to why he hurt, why he couldn't force himself to move, why it was so cold, why Dean was crying so much. Dean's hand was brushing the brown locks that had fallen into Sam's vision away from his eyes, lingering in his hair to run his fingers through it. Why was he crying?

"Hey, Sammy," Dean forced a smile, brushing his thumb against Sam's temple. He tried to swallow the lump in his throat to hide the sob lingering inside his chest, pulling him asunder with every breath he took. He could barely keep his lips spread, biting back the bitter sorrow inside to give a reassuring look to his brother.

"De—" Sam sputtered, more blood than voice flowing from his mouth as his memory of what had happened hit him and fear crept its way into his eyes, locked on Dean's. He wanted him to know how sorry he was for being so late; for screwing up. His brow furrowed as he realized his inability to speak and he stared more intently into Dean's unwavering gaze.

"Sam, no." Dean could read his brother's eyes, could recognize the guilty shadow that clouded them just when he was about to confess the blame to matters he could never be responsible for, should never apologize for. He pursed his lips, wanting to take everything crushing down on Sam away more than anything. "You've got nothing to be sorry for, okay?" He forced another smile, "You did good."

Sam's eyes disappeared beneath his lids, blinkingly slowly, sleepily, before connecting with Dean's once more. He seemed unsure, but accepted what Dean said. His eyes betrayed the questions that continued to overwhelm his confused state of mind and tore deep into Dean's heart, ripping it apart from the inside. He couldn't take away the pain Sam was desperately asking him to, couldn't warm him enough to hold back the shock that was covering him, couldn't bring himself to explain his tears; couldn't do anything but stare into his brother's eyes and wish it all away.

"You're gonna be okay," Dean was trying to stop the salty tears from coming now, trying to take away the worry, the fear, trying to keep him alive. "You've been through worse than this, right, Sammy?" He choked on his own words; he couldn't think of another time. All he could think of was the complete trust and faith that Sam's eyes had in him and of how he was betraying that trust with falsities. "I've got you."

Sam's eyes slid closed a second time, blinking so slow it hurt. His jaw was no longer clenched but relaxed, the corners of his mouth rising at the familiarity in Dean's last statement. Dean could only tug at Sam's shoulder, pressing him more firmly against himself in hopes of giving him any amount of encouragement, affection, or strength that he had left. He pulled Sam's head gently to his chest, resting his cheek against his head, letting his lips brush against his forehead in a kiss, wishing helplessly for some miracle to swap their places before pulling him back, too afraid to look away from his brother's eyes longer than he had to.

For the third time, Sam's eyes forced themselves shut, this time refusing to open. Panic gripped Dean's heart. He shook Sam as easily as he could, not wanting to cause anymore pain than he was already in.

"Sammy," Dean's voice shook uncontrollably, "Sammy, please—"

His eyes opened, barely managing to focus this time. A tear leaked out of the corner of his eye, rolling down his temple and disappearing against Dean's shirt. He swallowed, taking in his brother's green eyes with his own dulling ones.

_I'm scared._

Dean couldn't hold back the sob that welled inside of him at the realization of what Sam was thinking. He nodded, blinking away his own tears to focus more intently on his brother and the false assurances he would willingly offer.

_It's okay, you don't have to be. I've got you, Sammy, remember?_

Sam's mouth twitched, trying to form a smile before he let his eyes slip closed again.

_I know._

Dean could only smile for him, stroking his cheek, trying to ignore that he could no longer feel the rise of his chest or the pulsating of his heart beat in his veins. He shook Sam's still body, willing him to open his eyes, to smile his silly smile, to call him a jerk; to breathe. He pulled his hand away from the sticky wound still oozing blood and stared at the amount of blood caking his shaking hand before looking back to his brother's unmoving eyes. His lips twitched, wanting to keep smiling for Sam's sake but unable to hold the shape. Dean's shoulders shook as he took in the image of his baby brother lying at such an angle, slumped in his arms, legs entangled with his own, entire side soaked in crimson that never should have spilt; the image of his dead brother. He grasped his shoulder with his bloody hand and rested his hand against the back of Sam's head and drew him close, burying his head into Sam's shoulder, not even trying to hold back his muffled cries.

"SAM!"

Dean's voice echoed throughout the warehouse. There was no answer. There never would be.

---

Dean's eyes snapped open as he gasped for air, unable to make sense to the light that filled his sight; the first floor had been dark. He squinted against the dim source, finding it bright enough to sting as he heard the electric pulse radiating from the hand that wavered lazily next to his ears. His eyes darted to the yellow ones narrowing intently into his, a crooked grin spreading across the demon's lips. Dean's chest heaved as he gulped the air he so desperately needed after his recent electrocution, stunned by the wave of confusion crushing down on him.

He felt the tears sliding down his face before he could place the reason for them. Sam's face, still and lifeless pushed its way into his mind, threatening to break him all over again. But as his eyes opened he was met with the yellow eyed demon, smiling over him with his electric hands curling in anticipation on either side of him. He wanted to ask why he was still there, why he was still alive when his brother was dead, why he was back in this room with no memory as to how he arrived. His back unclenched itself, allowing him to slump in exhaustion, suddenly at a loss for why his back would have been tense in the first place. He reminded himself that he had just been electrocuted; but he couldn't have been that recently though, could he? That had been hours ago, hadn't it?

The demon's smile only grew with Dean's obvious confusion and pain.

Dean's eyes widened in recognition before being replaced by a pure malice he was unaware he possessed. He let out growl, lunging for the demon that remained crouching over him, managing to wrap his hands around his throat and force him to his back.

"You son of a bitch!" He reared back to punch the man sooner than he had the opportunity to move, his fist throbbing from the force of its impact with the demon's jaw, before repeating the step, only to find himself back against the wall before he had the chance. He struggled violently, teeth bared, screaming with his every fiber with a pure hatred. He thrashed, ignoring the pain that shot through his body with the action, wanting only to attack the thing crouching in front of him, dabbing the side of his mouth to wipe the blood away.

"That didn't take long."

"I'm going to tear you to pieces!" Dean seethed through his teeth, resting to catch his breath, "You're going to wish you'd stayed in hell when I'm done with you, you bastard!"

The demon only smiled, "Snarky."

Dean tried in vain to detach himself from the wall, desperate to inflict as much pain as possible. He screamed in rage, his voice hoarse through his teeth. "He was never really here, was he?" He gasped for breath, allowing his chest to catch up to his lungs that threatened to give out at any moment, his body too numb with hate to feel much at this point. "Was he!?"

The demon grinned again, holding his hand up once more, blue light flickering anew, "What do you think?" His hands were against Dean's head before he could respond, forcing him to relive the horrors he had instilled in Dean's mind a second time, pondering ways to torture his favorite inside of Dean's mind; ways to torture Sam in his own brother's head in order to hurt Dean in ways physical pain would never begin to compare to. He failed to hold back a sticky grin at the thought of John being reunited with his son so soon, leaving Sam free for the taking.

---

_Sam is not dead! Aren't you happy?  
This does not exuse the fact that I speared him..  
and in a sense I did kill him. and this upsets me greatly. but it upsets Dean more.  
The point is -- Sam is NOT dead and Dean is PISSED._


	9. Chapter 9

**Warning: water works a possibility.**

_Wow. Theses reviews are amazing, especially those for chapter eight. You have no idea how much they mean to me. Thanks so much for continuing to read. Sorry for the length between chapter eight and nine though, I had a spell of wrtier's block at the worst possible moment. Hope you enjoy the update!_

Sam stifled the dust-induced cough that threatened to expose his relatively hidden location. He swallowed unconsciously, unnerved by the silence that awaited him on the other side of the crumbling warehouse wall. He took a peek to his left and over the edge of the broken windowsill he rested beneath before glancing uncertainly to the Smith & Wesson he held loosely in his hand, tightening his grip. He tried to assure himself that Dean was fine and waiting on him to bust down a door to get him out. They had gotten their dad out when he was taken, right? Sam could handle this. Except last time they had the colt, and even then their dad ended up being possessed and almost killed Dean.

Sam shook his head to clear the image of Dean's head falling to his chest as he lost consciousness from blood loss and the memory of sheer panic that went through him at the sight of his brother bleeding to death only a few feet away. He wouldn't let anything else happen to Dean.

He closed his eyes to concentrate on the image of the blueprints he had looked up in order to estimate where Dean was being held. The entire first floor was nothing but storage, and the third had partially collapsed, destroying most of the second floor over a decade ago. The layout of the fourth floor involved several main rooms and a handful of rooms just large enough to match Sam's vision. There was a stairwell enclosed on the east side of the building that went from ground level to a roof entrance and there were only two other entryways.

His eyes remained closed for a moment, urging him to resist the temptation to barge through the front door before he forced himself to take a shaky breath and rose to his feet. He wouldn't do Dean any good dead.

---

Dean's heart thudded painfully in his ears, making it hard to concentrate on the steady breaths he desperately needed to take. He cursed himself for his weakness, hating the taste of the blood that drizzled from his lips and the sticky liquid surrounding him. He gasped at the fresh amount of pain as he jarred his chest against the concrete floor, changing position just enough to maneuver himself with his right hand, his left already numb, pinned beneath his noncompliant body. He dug his nails into the hard surface, gritting his teeth against the agony in his chest, and struggled to pull himself across the stretch of space, cursing everyone and everything at the sight of his brother doing the same.

Dean had taken two shots. Sam had taken three.

Dean ignored the pain in his arm as it ripped against the unfinished surface and clung to the pooling blood beneath him and continued using his free arm to inch himself closer to Sam, watching him struggle to do the same, his fingers clawing the cement to bring his quaking body closer to Dean.

"Damn it," Dean gasped, barely managing to pull himself a fraction of an inch at a time. His fingertips were losing their grip against the blood dripping from his nails.

"Dean, I can't," Sam panted, letting himself sink back to the floor, his arm still extended towards his brother, "I can't—" He rested his head against the inside of his arm, cocked to the side to allow his eyes to remain on Dean, his fingers unwilling to retire themselves from reaching in desperation.

"Come on, Sammy," Dean huffed, trying not to cough on the copper welling in his throat, "You can't bitch out on me now."

"Jerk," he whispered softly, his lips curling in an attempt to smile. His eyes began to shut, dark lashes slowly closing out the world around him.

"Sam, you gotta stay awake," Dean felt his own body protesting against the notion, "Look at me, Sam." He paused, gasping at the scourge of pain that shot through his arm as he gained more ground, mere inches from his brother's fingertips, but kept his eyes trained on Sam's. He obeyed, blinking wearily in Dean's direction with pain in his once gleaming eyes. "You have to stay awake," he repeated firmly, swallowing the bile that threatened to exit his throat.

Sam sighed heavily, willing himself to stay awake, to keep his eyes on Dean no matter how bad it hurt to see him struggle. He nodded slightly, trying to comfort himself by nuzzling his cheek further into the crook of his arm and avoid the blood seeping through his clothing.

Their fingers touched, pulling Dean from his state of concentration and Sam from his resignations against unconsciousness. Dean allowed himself to sink to the ground, resting his head in a position similar to Sam's against his arm, and released a heated breath, relishing the comfort he instantly felt wrap around his heart. Sam managed to reach farther; grasping Dean's resting hand with his left, frantic for the soothing touch. Dean immediately began stroking his thumb, smiling as best he could in response to Sam's relaxing features at the action. He was torn between savoring the small contact and the unbearable aching for more before it was too late. Sam fidgeted, forcing himself to move closer, crying out in pain, but managing to get a firm grip on Dean's forearm, just out of reach of his head, the same thoughts running through his mind.

Dean grimaced as Sam's grip loosened slightly and his head sank back into his arm. He struggled against the unseen force that held him to the ground rendering him weaker and weaker as he felt himself lose more blood and slip further away from consciousness; further away from Sam. He braced for the pain, dragging his body as far as it would possibly allow him, unable to hold in the hollowed cry that followed, his ribs jarring and his wounds screaming. He collapsed to his side, gasping for breath, his forehead resting against Sam's, his body angled perpendicular to his brother's. He panted, determined to try again, despite the overwhelming aching of his body.

Sam just moved his right hand from his side to the space between them, searching for and finding Dean's left. He gripped it softly, nuzzling his forehead against Dean's before letting his heavy eyelids drop in exhaustion. Dean relaxed his pursuit, settling with the contact he received and returned the gesture of affection to his brother with a slight nod, unclenching his jaw and releasing the strain he had been holding on his shoulders. His breathing slowed as he felt Sam's thumb repeat Dean's previous movement of stroking his thumb. Dying wasn't so bad. The sound of his heartbeat thudded dully in his ears. Knowing Sam would die with him was the worst fate imaginable. He permitted a single tear to drain from his eye and fall into oblivion just as the grip on his hand slipped free and the sound of his brother's labored breathing grew silent.

---

Dean gasped, his eyes searching wildly for signs of the demon, memories flooding through him, shaking him to his core. He shuddered, snapping his eyes shut in a futile attempt to hold back the images he knew were coming. He could only whimper in response to the many memories of what he had been forced to live through rushed back to his mind, overwhelming him with pain, hate, and the deepest sorrow he had ever known. Nine times he had watched his brother die, nine times felt Sam's pulse slow to nothing, powerless to stop it, and nine times a part of Dean died along with him. He swallowed the sob clinging to his throat, determined to swallow the pain with it, resolved to pour his hatred into the being that caused it. He blinked against the light, grunting at the familiar throb in his shoulder as he made to right himself. He was going to kill him with his bare hands as slow as he possibly could. He glowered, finally able to focus on the room around him and the pair of yellow eyes that had already risen from Dean's eyelevel. His hands were no longer glowing with an electric pulse, but silent and still by his sides. He was grinning.

Dean growled in response, forcing himself from the ground only to find that he was easily pinned back down. He grimaced, the impact still resounding through his body. The demon's lips moved with the smile plastered to his lips as if they were forming words, but no sound reached Dean's ears. Unconsciousness was finally taking over the resistant Winchester in both spite and mercy. He released his breath, longing to pull himself to his feet as his vision began to blur, edges lined with black. He watched the demon turn in silence, the only sound remaining being the echo of an irregular pulse in his veins. He slid slowly to his side and allowed his eyes to close and remain that way, savoring the nothingness that washed over his battered body and eased away his painful memories with a blissful blanket of black.

---

Sam rounded the corner that led to another room with contempt and agitation. He steadied his gun, taking an uneasy breath, and reached for the handle, not expecting it to turn. He felt his heart skip a beat as the hinges creaked against the rust and swung the door wide, stopping it with his foot before it could connect with the wall. He placed his hand back to his gun, preparing for what would meet him on the other side, and stepped through the doorway, raising his weapon as he did so. He leveled the gun, using it to scan the room for any sign of danger before finally resting his eyes on the slumped form of a man at the base of the far wall. He felt the gun loosen in his hand, the echo of it connecting with the ground reaching him before he even noticed that he had dropped it.

He was at Dean's side before he could take a second breath. His hands ghosted over Dean's chest, surveying the damage, barely holding back the tears that welled in his eyes at the sight of his shoulder. He felt his stomach knot with fear and disgust as he took in his brother's face caked with blood. Dried crimson had flown from his ears, his nose, his lips. An assault of cuts coated his skin, creeping from his hairline, spider webbing from his temple, and staining his cheeks. Sam's hand finally rested against the side of his face, his thumb barely grazing the thin line covering his cheek. Dean unconsciously flinched at the touch, his eyes remaining closed, his mind somewhere far, far away. Sam bit his lip, using his other hand to pull his brother into sitting position, trying to stifle a sob as he watched Dean's head slip to his chest. It was all too familiar.

"Dean?" He placed his other hand to the other side of Dean's face, cradling his head as gently as he could. His eyes searched the eyelids of his brother in desperation, willing him to meet his gaze. "Dean."

Dean's eyes moved beneath his eyelids, but remained closed. The darkness was an uncharted escape to the world he had left behind. Sam's voice floated through it, trying to pull him back.

"Dean," Sam begged, blinking away hot tears of guilt that had slowly filled his eyes. He pursed his lips, running a hand through his brother's disheveled hair, choking back another sob at the sticky substance that met his hand as he reached the back of Dean's head. "Dean, please..."

Dean groaned, subconscious unable to resist the begging in Sam's voice. He scrunched his eyes, wanting to open them but wishing they would stay shut. He clenched his jaw, ready to launch the presence crouching over him to the far side of the room, adrenaline instantly flooding through his veins with hate before he took notice of the hands gently cradling his face by the jaw. He blinked, relaxing slightly under the touch, and tried to fight back the lead in his stomach as his vision cleared to reveal his hopes, his longing, his nightmare repeated. Sam's eyes met his own, his gaze heated and worried.

Dean opened his mouth to say something, expression defeated and relieved all at once, but settled for the sudden contact with his brother's shirt as he was pulled into an abrupt hug. He gasped against the pain in his ribs, taken off guard by the swift plague of agony. Sam's grip on his back immediately softened at the realization of the pain he was causing Dean as he began pulled away to prevent more harm. Dean only brought his arms tightly around Sam's back, ignoring the throbbing in his shoulder, willing him to allow the moment of weakness to continue for a moment longer, grateful for Sam caving to his needs by pulling him closer. He took a calming breath, closing his eyes into his shoulder, content with the feeling of Sam's head resting against his own. He was suddenly too tired to pull himself away.

Sam felt his brother go limp, his arms slipping silently from Sam's back to rest loosely at his sides, his head inching farther down his neck. He struggled under Dean's full weight and the painful knot in his stomach as he unwillingly pulled Dean away, righting him by the shoulders against the wall. The smile he had kept plastered to his face as soon as Dean's eyes had opened faded to a frown. Dean remained limp, slumped against the hard surface of steely concrete, seemingly oblivious to the world around him. Sam could hardly bear the sound of his raspy breaths that remained shallow and so obviously pained. He swallowed, running a hand across his face in an attempt to wipe away the fear and dread he could still feel dwelling in his chest, just beneath his skin.

He managed to take his eyes off Dean long enough to look over his shoulder, the loss of his weapon suddenly making him uneasy. His eyes darted from the gun resting several feet away to the threatening presence of the doorway then returned to Dean's unconscious form, the decision unclear from his point of view. He clasped his hand against the crook of Dean's neck before letting it slip away to allow him to retrieve the discarded gun. It was juvenile to regret releasing his brother for more than a second but he couldn't help noticing the hole in his heart instantly returning as he lost contact.

"Sam!" Dean's subconscious once again exposed itself as he firmly grasped his brother's wrist, the absence of his touch having been enough to wake him. He breathed heavily, eyes already connected with Sam's, surveying the new scenario, puzzled by the lack of danger. Sam only settled back in front of Dean, memories of the importance of a weapon lost in his brother's protective eyes.

"I just dropped my gun," he reassured Dean, almost laughing aloud at the look of exasperation that came over him; Dean was still Dean. He smiled sincerely, fighting the urge to embrace his brother a second time, almost afraid to expect any kind of response other than his general barriers against emotion.

Dean frowned, green eyes widening in union, too late to faze the young hunter crouching in front of him. Sam's grunt of confusion and brief amount of pain was lost in his brother's infuriated cries. He blinked, unsure of how he had come in contact with the floor before his vision swirled away his eyesight completely, taking away his newly angled view of Dean. Unable to make sense of the current situation, he drifted into the unconsciousness that awaited him with Dean's hollowed voice screaming a warning too late to be registered echoing forebodingly in his mind.


	10. Chapter 10

**need to know:** there is no possible way I could ever express how truly sorry I am for taking so very, very long to update a story right in the middle of some of the biggest parts. I was crushed with writer's block that turned into an rabid fear of the plot. I kept telling myself it was too complicated to complete and there was no way I would be able to write it the way I wanted to and continued living in fear for who knows how long. Horrible thing, self doubt, isn't it? thankfully I have a persistant editor and friend who guilt tripped me with "I keep checking to see if the email for the next chapter's come every morning so excited and sure it will be today.. then it isnt." I think she was lying. but it worked, right? I would also like to say my hesitation has been resolved in this chapter but, I dont think in all honesty it has been. I kind of dodged the bullet. Not to worry though, I am fairly certain I know what to do! It just wont be in this chapter. but I will never go that long without updating ever again. please forgive me!  
**thankyou isnt enough:** but i have to try. thank you so much for all the continued reviews and supporting comments. every single one of you that took the time to give me some much needed encouragment helped find a piece of my muse and brought it back. I cannot begin to tell you all how much your support has meant and I hope beyond hopes that my stories will suffice.  
**reviewers:** you rock face. please keep it up. I really need them at a time like this. now go and enjoy!

---

The surge of nothingness Sam felt weighing down on his body was oddly comforting in comparison to the restlessness he had been coping with in the absence of Dean. A cool buzz seemed to present itself over the less inclining vividness of reality. He surrendered, pleased with the new scenario of no responsibility, no pain, no anything.

"Don't touch him."

The hollowed voice filtering through his blanket of black sounded hauntingly familiar.

"Don't fucking touch him!"

The voice repeated itself, louder, firmer than before. The pure malice dripping from each syllable was inescapably obvious. The fact did little to subdue the comfort Sam felt at the familiarity of it.

_Dean?_

"Get away from him."

_Get away from who?_

"NOW!"

Dean obviously meant business from the tone of his voice. He could hardly remember the last time such a stern and absolute resounding hatred had coursed through his brother's voice. The memory of yellow eyes quickly banished the question of why it had risen to such a sound in the first place. Sam needed to wake up. He felt himself panic when he realized that he couldn't force his eyes open, couldn't move, couldn't do anything but listen through the layer of echoes he was forced to remain beneath.

A hand was gripping his jaw.

_Why does it hurt?_

Fingernails bit into his skin, revealing the slightest prickling in Sam's semiconscious mind. He had no recollection of grimacing but did all the same. It hurt much more to physical Sam than it did to mental Sam, whether he knew it should or not.

"Let him go!"

_Make it stop._

The fingernails dug deeper, one in particular penetrating the soft flesh on the underside of his jaw, the opportunity to delve deeper too becoming to pass up. The pain was dull to Sam's mind but thicker than before. Physical Sam visibly clenched, tensing in response.

"Please..."

A greater panic swelled deep inside of Sam. Had Dean just said that? Was his voice really that broken, completely separate from the commanding tone that had previously comforted him?

Sam blinked, abruptly pulled away from his last ounce of protected unconsciousness. Light invaded his vision, coaxing him from the dark, only to assault him with the full amount of pain he had been receiving throughout his stages of waking. He had no idea nails could go so deep.

"Dean?" Sam's voice was soft and weak as the only thing he could think of or bring himself to say passed through his lips. His head pounded mercilessly from the back of his skull. Sam was confused; fucking lost.

Sam's vision slowly regained its clarity as Dean's ghostly pale features morphed to a single image against the opposite wall. He blinked at the recognition of why his brother was standing unevenly against the wall. His knees were loose and unbalanced; he was incapable of holding his own weight yet he remained standing. Dean's expression was hard to read as he attempted to mask himself back into his game face, failing miserably to deny the horror in his eyes but managing to withhold the brunt of his emotions. He seemed to turn an even paler shade of white at the sight of Sam's eyes opening to his own personal hell, oblivious to the sheen of sweat coating his skin or the dark circles around his sunken eyes. He struggled with a renewed sense of meaning, a futile attempt to free himself from the invisible bonds. Sam swallowed against the pain surrounding his jaw line and blinked dark eyes in Dean's direction, instantly settling the older sibling into an empty resignation and allowing him to regain his breath without saying a word.

With Dean's breathing steadying itself and the sting of nails in his skin, the presence to his immediate left became a more pressing matter. Sam stole a glance in the direction of the owner of the hand that still held tightly to his jaw, forcibly inclining his head. A haughty brunette with an unshakable smile met his eyes. He didn't have the slightest inkling as to who, or what, she was despite the foreboding shudder he felt travel through his spine.

He involuntarily choked out a grunt as the nails retracted, violently carving more damage as they veered viciously towards the woman and lengthened the marks. He could feel the sticky substance of blood heating his skin and swallowed the small cry that threatened to spill from his lips. It had hurt, but ordinarily wouldn't have been enough to cause him to express the pain. Sam found his current state of confusion and bitter waking a poor excuse for his moment of verbalized weakness as his brother became taut and renewed his struggle. Guilt tugged at his insides.

"Stop fidgeting," the woman spoke sternly as if chiding a small child. She turned to Dean with a mocking expression of worry as she closed the distance between them. "You're liable to hurt yourself worse than I already have." Dean grimaced a hint of a smile in response and gave a slight tug against the supernatural restraints in defiance. "On second thought," she murmured as she eased her hand to his sweltering shoulder, pleased by the expectancy in his body as he tensed in preparation for the pain, "maybe it's just what you need." Sam's graveled string of curses fell on deaf ears as Dean felt himself close up to the outside world away from the pain. He grit his teeth and kept his eyes tightly shut, stuttering the enforced groan of pain with resistance and self disgust. The pain only worsened as the utensil of torture wriggled itself deeper into the wound. Dean's throat closed in a defensive reaction to the pain that sent his mind reeling and brought bile to the back of his mouth. His back had arched against his restraints, bringing his actions to an awkward halt before his body could properly brace itself, and inflicted an even greater amount of pain. His voice raged in a continual battle to refrain from screaming with a begrudging groan that rose through his clenched teeth and unknowingly sent shivers down his brother's spine.

_Fuck._

He couldn't breathe.

Meg's fingers dug into his back as she pressed her thumb farther into his shoulder, mocking his expression with her mouth slightly agape and brow furrowed as if she were thoroughly concerned with his well being. She paused in her pursuit of digging into flesh to gain a clearer view of the way he was handling the pain, eager to see his breaking point. Dean's response to the reprieve he received was immediate as he thrust his jaw open to gulp the air he desperately needed so fast he only managed to bring himself into a fit of coughs that jarred Meg's finger in his shoulder, tilting the world all over again. He struggled to ease the hammering in his chest and the rushing sound in his ears that threatened to pull him away from reality; away from Sam who thrashed violently against his own bonds directly across from him with a wild look in his eyes. He could barely make out the slow movement of Sam's retreat to the commanding force and rise of his chest as his eyesight doubled, cleared, and doubled again. His lips managed to form his brother's name but failed to voice the call. Meg followed his shaky gaze, knowing he was attempting to connect with his precious baby brother, and stepped between the siblings with a smile. He was increasingly confused from the lack of oxygen, continuing to search for Sam through the body blocking his vision until the demon gripped his face with her free hand, jerking his attention to her deceitfully human eyes. He was physically sickened by the smell and feel of sticky blood, Sam's blood, still clinging to the tips of her fingers.

"It's rude to ignore a lady, you know," she stated casually, holding firm to the sides of his face as he jerked stubbornly against her grip before shoving his head nonchalantly to the side. She knowingly smeared remaining crimson into his skin as she released him.

Dean snorted, allowing his eyes to settle on hers. "Funny," he managed to croak, unable to complete his insult. He could barely make out the expression plastered on Meg's face, let alone hold the legitimately threatening glare he intended to.

He found himself facing a different direction over his right shoulder, fighting back the black edges that seeped into his vision. He was vaguely aware of the cut bleeding from the corner of his mouth, but much more wary of the coppery substance filling it. He spit blood, squinting at the brief moment of pain as he shook his head and righted his jaw, turning to stare indifferently back into Meg's eyes. "Lady-like," he muttered just loud enough for the sarcasm to be heard.

Sam winced at Dean's slurred speech and strained voice. He could see the woman's right hand gripping his shoulder, penetrating his wound, and he knew who she was and all the sins she'd committed. He felt his stomach drop the instant she touched his arm, forcing sketchy memories belonging to someone else, memories he had forced himself to forget, rushing to the surface. Memories of Sam's finger on the trigger and Dean slung into the wall brought a lump to this throat. Blood on his knuckles as he slammed his fist into Dean's head again and again stung his eyes as he strained to keep his focus on the here and now, incapable of fighting off the images. The memory of Sam's hand warmed by the blood of his brother as he dug deeper into Dean's shoulder, deeper into the bullet hole he had created, forced him to look away, afraid he'd break in half if he watched it happen a second time. All had been memories he never truly lived through and had no ability to control during the possession. The worst thing was that he knew the demon torturing his brother only feet in front of him was aware of the similarity; that she was counting on it. The growing lump in his throat prevented him from swallowing the guilt that continued to boil in his chest. There was a part of him that knew it was irrational to blame himself for the wrongs she had done with his face, but a greater part couldn't help but dwell on all the reasons it could be.

Dean's breathing hitched at the slight pressure he felt renewed in his shoulder, barely managing to force his eyes back open to face the blackened, soulless ones that met his gaze in place of the sparkling blue pair that preceded them. The true nature of the being hovering inches from his face grinned malice in response to his banter as she leaned over his right side to allow him a clear view of his brother over her shoulder. "I'm going to tear him open," she whispered as calmly as her eager voice would allow, "I'm going to tear him open and let you watch him bleed from the sidelines too weak to even attempt one of those self-sacrificing stunts of yours." Dean struggled to hold Sam's frantic gaze and focus on his brother instead of the words he heard echoing in his head. His hearing was growing thick and her words became slow and hollowed before they could reach him. She paused, her breath hot in his ear. "No matter what I do, it's nothing compared to what you do to yourself, right?"

The words were too muffled to fully comprehend as the world seemed to slow to a halt in Dean's eyes. The image of Sam suddenly struggling violently against his bonds, screaming an unheard threat with fear in his eyes, was the last thing he saw before his vision was torn from his skull in a rushing surge of pain.

Meg curled her thumb into the uninjured tissue of his shoulder, slowly digging her way through the skin, savoring the sticky crimson spilling into her palm. Dean's voice was lost in the broken scream of pain he had no hope of controlling coming from his mouth, spilling forcefully past his clenched teeth as he kept his head thrust back away from the pain. There was no air, no light, no up, and no down. There was only the inescapable agony crushing down on all sides in the form of the tiniest weapon shredding through his skin from the inside out.

Sam's screams went unheard.

_Please be okay..._

Dean was unable to acknowledge the let up or the sickening finale of nail biting through previously unscathed flesh, leaving a lengthy gash of equal depth in its wake. Nor was he capable of hearing his brother's frantic cries as he was allowed to slip to the floor and welcome the exhaustion that threatened to overtake him with labored breathing.

"Poor Dean," Meg was in his ear, examining the blood soaking the better part of her hand, "already giving up." She lowered her voice to a whisper, "Already alone."

Dean struggled to respond with more than in incoherent slur, anger filtering through his hazy excuse for vision. False memories of his brother's deaths dug deeper than any physical wound could ever go, ravaging his already cracking soul with a heavy fear and sickening hatred.

Dean grunted in a second attempt to speak, gritting his teeth in rage.

"What was that?"

He swallowed to regain his shaky breath, "Fuck," the smallest hint of a painful grin playing on his cracking lips, "you."

Meg's smile faltered, eyes narrowing in resignation before she rested her hands on her knees and rose to her feet. She scowled at his determination and stubborn spirit, connecting her foot with his gut, forcing him from the ground to the wall as his body failed to fully absorb the shock. She turned away from his grunt of pain and futile gasps for air to face the remaining Winchester with a wry grin.

Dean struggled to keep his eyes open, terrified of the way his vision continued to falter. He pressed his palms against the floor, wiling himself to stand and fight, knowing the only reason he was no longer pinned to the wall was justified as he failed to lift himself an inch from the ground before reconnecting with the cement. He bit back the scream that caught in his throat in anger and self resentment, panic settling in his chest at the thought of passing out; the thought of leaving Sam alone with Meg and her promise. He was dimly aware of his head resting against the floor and lack of mobility in his arm. Everything was loosing focus and fading fast. A shrill buzz filled his ears, slightly masked by the muffled silence unconsciousness often brought, drowning out the conversation between his brother and the demon.

Dean's mind fought desperately against his body to keep his eyes on his doubling brother and the demon before him, but try as he might, his eyelids only grew heavier and his breathing became slower. He couldn't even voice his anger, his hatred, or his undeniable fear in his state of semi consciousness. He could only blink in desperation, unable to move as his vision went black.

---

**also:** I have a new story up and waiting for reviews. if you have some spare time and your need for all things Winchester as not been fulfilled, I would really appreciate a review of _One Fateful Night_'s chapter one. I hate to say it, but story alerts and favorites arent really the same as getting a review, and _One Fateful Night_ has gotten quite a few adds, but only two reviews. It saddens me to great extents. go check it out if you can!


	11. Chapter 11

**more apologies:** they probably seem like crap at this point. to be honest, I was completely certain that I would have an unlimited amount of time to sit and work on this, but just when I got settled, I was faced with two very "thorough" classes that literally take up four to six hours on a good night. all I can say on the matter is that it's a darn good thing I happen to like studying anything history related and manage to force myself into focusing on trig, which I'm bad at to begin with, therefore have to work harder at to keep up with. if only I weren't such a cold hard nerd and didnt care so much, my work would really only last an hour to two. so for that, I'm very, very sorry, it is probably my fault for taking so long. With the first exams behind me, I had a break this weekend and pounced. I had been adding maybe two sentences when I could(a little more on _One Fateful Night_), but this time I had a little bit of time today to work on it, and so I did! Unfortunately, I will be working anywhere from eight to ten hours on most saturdays for a while, and Ive always had a shot sunday with three hours of hometime(I happen to enjoy church quite a bit), so I supose we'll have to see when I can squeeze in writing time because by god, it must be done!! Im flat out skipping next saturday, screw it all, and staying home. I plan to do nothing at all except the stupid assignments I'm sure I'll have and work on finishing _Gone_. Since I skipped church today that's what I've been doing. There's also that pesky writer's block to contend with. I thought it was gone, but I was sadly mistaken. anyone have any helpful tips? you have no idea how much I could use them.  
**A/N:** this can be a teeny bit hard to follow, but I shall add a quick summary at the bottom(no peaking) and if you don't get something, just ask me and I'll fill you in.  
**also:** I've spent a bit more time working on chapter three of _One Fateful Night_, and it's getting a little too lengthy. I'm going to have to split a bit and make it into a four-part fic instead of the three chapters I was planning on. Then again this was originally supposed to have ten, and at this stage, I'm thinking more along fifteen... but look for chapter three, it should be up either today or tomorrow!  
**reviewers:** I love you. there's no other way to express my gratitude. thank you so much for taking the time to read and share your opinions. it means the world to me. thankyou, thankyou!

---

Dean's consciousness was slow coming. He blinked in confusion, recognizing pain before remembering the cause. The constant throb in the back of his head had to be a bad sign. He resisted the urge to moan as the agony in his chest registered with his brain with every shaky breath he took. Everything hurt and he wanted nothing more than to relinquish his hold on reality with a blissful sleep. He was leaning against something solid, hard and somehow soft, and though he had no conscious idea of what it was, he settled against it, turning his head to rest his cheek against it.

The image Sam wincing in pain found its way into his mind.

He jackknifed into sitting position, lost in a sudden wave of hurt. He gasped, clutching at his side in a pitiful attempt to subdue the pain. He stole a glance to his left arm as panic bubbled in his throat the moment he realized only one hand came to press against his ribs and saw it limp at his side. Dean was shaking and he couldn't stop. His arm wouldn't move but it still fucking hurt, and now he couldn't breathe. His head swung back to the wall opposite of him, and forced another weakened moan of pain as his vision gave way to black and pain. He clutched his skull in vain, wishing he had a second hand to press the ache back in. Just as he began to sway, tipping to his right in a beeline for the floor, a hand wrapped around his arm to rest against the cuff of his neck and steadied him back against the hard yet soft surface behind him. He grimaced, angry at his weakness and blind acceptance of the hand. Then another arm was against his chest, pressingly lightly in assurance and putting a hand to his temple, fingers wary of the wound on the back of his head, and he knew who it was.

"Sam?"

"Yeah." Sam's chest rumbled with speech against his back.

Dean sighed in relief, not at all relieved, and leaned his head back in exhaustion. He stared ruefully at his unmoving hand resting limply against his thigh before turning his head against the crook of Sam's neck to gain an angled view of his brother's face. He couldn't help but voice his shock in an audible gasp that caused his voice to hitch. "Sammy?"

Sam's eyes traveled slower than they should have but made it to Dean's. He chewed the inside of his cheek.

Dean growled, tone low and menacing. "Where is she?"

"I'm okay." He didn't sound okay by the way he barely rasped it out.

The left side of Sam's face was nothing but a black and purple bruise, marred only by a line of crimson running from his hairline to his jaw, and the sight viciously rid Dean of his anger and left him with the painful emotions of failure. His lip was still bleeding, despite his best efforts to stem it with his teeth. A deep cut ran from his right temple to just below his eye and finished draining around the corner of his mouth. Dean grimaced at every bruise, every abrasion. He didn't really want to see what the rest of Sam looked like; didn't want to feel the guilt that he knew was causing his stomach to twinge in pain. Or maybe that was his ribs. He opened his mouth but didn't know what to say. I'm sorry didn't seem to cover it. Why did he have to come? He shifted away from Sam's grip and rested his back against the wall, not really comfortable with removing the touch of their shoulders.

"I'm okay," Sam repeated, careful to keep his voice steady this time.

Dean frowned. He wanted to inspect for more wounds but was afraid to move, afraid to face his own pain, and more afraid of finding another gaping hole in his brother's side than he had ever been afraid of anything in his life.

"You okay?" Sam broke the silence. He knew better than to expect a straight answer, but then again, he also knew he didn't really need to ask to know that Dean was far from being okay.

"I'm good considering," Dean supplied a classic response to the familiar question. Then he swallowed and avoided Sam's eyes by leaning his head back to stare at the ceiling. "I can't move my arm."

"What?" Dean could feel Sam's eyes burning against the bare skin on his forearm. He tried not to look at the rip in his brother's sleeve and imagine the gash that must have torn through Sam's skin as well. Sam's presence kept his hatred at bay. There was no need to question who had caused his injuries, so he focused on the question he had just been asked.

"Dead weight," Dean restated bluntly. "Hurts like a bitch though," he added somewhat thoughtfully. "'Thought it'd be numb, you know?"

Sam sat straighter as his fingers ghosted over Dean's wound, hovering above the sweltering flesh. A two inch slit was half sealed and reopened was both red, yellow, blue, puffy, and swollen; one big oozy mess. "All primary colors," he stated as half-heartedly as possible, not really able to smile.

Dean snorted in response, his eyes still focused elsewhere, listening hard for Sam's steady heartbeat for self assurance. He couldn't help but remember how many times it had stopped in his mind.

Sam's eyes focused on the part that had recently been forced open by means of a human thumb and lingered on the lengthy gash that veered away from the entry. That part was new. That part still looked like it would start bleeding again at any given moment. That part was less of a threat than the original wound though. Sam didn't need to focus on the new part. He needed to pay attention to the old one. "It doesn't look so good."

"Tell me something I don't know." Dean finally looked back to Sam, not really interested in moving his head to face his brother all the way. His eyes told Sam he didn't really want to know something he didn't.

Sam smiled sympathetically, trying to pretend it didn't hurt his split lip. "You've got a pretty bad infection." He left it at that. He didn't want to say what he was really thinking and he probably didn't need to judging by the way Dean set his jaw and looked away again. Dean didn't deserve to lose an arm. He didn't deserve anything he'd been dealt since that night half an eternity ago in the parking deck.

"You never answered me." Dean swallowed, not interested in dwelling on the mobility or lack thereof in his arm; more than a little interested venting his growing hatred. "Where are they?" He didn't bother to mask his contempt or hide his rage.

Sam swallowed as if unsure of his answer before looking at Dean with a hint of amusement and more than a little concern. "Fighting."

"What?" Dean's eyes shot back to Sam's. "What do you mean, fighting?"

"I mean fighting," Sam supplied as if there were nothing more to say.

"Over what, the wallpaper?"

This time Sam set his jaw, obvious discomfort marring his damaged face. "It must've cooled down though. I can't hear walls falling anymore." It was hard to pinpoint where seriousness came to an end and sarcasm began.

Dean eyed his brother, frustration ebbing. "What was the fight over, Sam?" The idea of a physical altercation between the two was more than enough to worry about, but Sam neglecting to identify the cause was as unsettling as they came. "Sammy?"

"Me," Sam averted his eyes, "you."

"Come again?"

"It was like..." Sam considered his words, knowing this was crossing the very thin line Dean had constructed many years ago. "Like they couldn't pick which... choose who..." Sam ran a hand through his hair, "God, they can't decide who to... She wanted to..."

_I'm going to tear him open and let you watch him bleed._

Dean blinked, trying to ignore the stupid memory; failing to block the voice. Like hell he'd watch.

"But he didn't..." Sam stopped his feeble attempt to explain, bringing his gaze back to Dean, confusion sketched across his face, "This is so screwed up."

Dean only nodded.

"I don't know how to... how am I supposed to explain something this messed up?" Sam pressed his palms into his eyes, forcing whatever information he'd been trying to spill back inside his head and keeping it there.

"She wants you dead," _to get to me_, "but he," Dean considered his words, not liking the repercussions of the truth, "doesn't."

Sam nodded, hands hiding his worried eyes.

Dean didn't need to ask why. Sam's incessant fear of going dark-side spoke for itself. "But he what, wants to finish me?"

Sam's fingers gripped at his scalp, his palms pressing hard enough to bring forth white specks in the midst of the darkness behind his eyelids. That's exactly what he wanted.

"Fuck," Dean breathed, leaning back against the wall.

"Pretty much," Sam agreed, nodding with an exasperated sigh, removing the pressure on his eyes to rest against the rough surface next to his brother.

"So they really got at it?"

"Went crazy," Sam elaborated, neither sparing the other a glance.

"Wish my sorry ass had been present for that one."

Sam snorted, a small grin playing on his lips as Dean did the same. Before they were aware of their actions they were laughing, shoulder-shaking, lip splitting, hysterically laughing. It was a desperate kind of laughter without a drop of humor; the kind of laughter heard just before shit really hits the fan and it's too damn late to step aside; the kind that signifies the end and masks tears of pain with false tears of joy. Though they knew they weren't really laughing anymore, neither could bring themselves to stop. It was the way it always had been, and the way it would invariably always be. It was Sam and Dean against the world, even when the world came down to a worn down warehouse and hollowed laughter.

Then a wall crumbled, the door shattered, and the world began to crash.

---

**summary of sammy-speak:** Meg wants Sam dead because she's a demon of her word, and Dean's fully aware of why(him). Yellow Eyes is a bit too interested in Sam, his favorite for leading that army of his, to let him go so easily. Hell hath no furry like a woman scorned though, right?  
**tell your friends:** chapter three of _One Fateful Night_ should be out in no time at all!


	12. Chapter 12

**warning:** may cause tears.  
**suggestion:** reread chapter ten to set the pace. this picks up immediately where ten left off.  
**A/N:** I totally neglected every ounce of homework and responsibility of the day last night to complete this chapter; because I am so not going to wait any longer than this to update. I really liked this chapter to begin with but I'm a little iffy as of late. I'm so very sorry if it isn't up to standards, the following will most definitely!  
**fortune telling:** as of now, there are three remaining chapter left to this. I'll let you guys know next update whether or not that will still stand, but I'm fairly certain it will. Hurray!  
**reviewers:** if only virtual cookies really did exist.. you would totally get a dozen each.

---

Then a wall crumbled, the door shattered, and the world began to crash.

Sam blinked just before the cement began to tumble forward. Time seemed to slow to an excruciatingly sluggish pace as dust began to furl beneath an uneven slab before the concrete even touched the ground. Then, as abruptly as they had formed, his senses were cut off and his knees were forced to his chest as his body was encircled by a familiar, rough, and gentle force, a shield that pressed him firmly to the wall.

And time suddenly caught up with the world.

Sam cringed at the booming sound that surrounded him and managed to detect the tightening of an arm around his back and the flurry of beats pressed securely against his ear. He couldn't help the overwhelming sense of failure that overtook him in that frightening instant any more than he could prevent the way his hands fisted his brother's shirt, if only to keep him from leaving again. Things were as far from a rescue as they could possibly be. Dean was barely holding on to consciousness and still continued his bravado and unwavering sense of duty that Sam would always unconditionally love and hate. He shut his eyes to avoid the nearly blinding density of dust that was rapidly filling the room. Something connected with the wall directly to his right and he could have sworn he felt Dean's limp fingers twitch against his arm but fail to move anymore. Dean released a small string of profanities somewhere above him and into his hair just as something solid slammed into Sam's unprotected side. He tensed, reflexes telling him to buck away from the pain, and couldn't contain a cry that undoubtedly went unheard in all the commotion of the crumbling room. Dean's good hand was suddenly entangled in his hair and his shoulders bowed to cover as much of Sam as possible. A rumble in his brother's chest sounded louder than it should have as he ground out something like an apology, but all Sam could do was grit his teeth and twist his face into Dean's shirt to escape the pain. Another crash had Dean tensing through his own pain.

Then there was silence.

Sam felt Dean tentatively raise his head from the top of his own just as the dust began to settle. Though the world's destruction took only seconds, for the Winchesters it went on for hours. Sam swayed a little at the sudden white pain in his side and unconsciously tightened his grip on the tattered fabric of Dean's shirt. Dean's hand was somehow at the crook of his neck and his eyes fixed on the foreign object protruding from his little brother's side, just below his ribs. Sam winced and ducked his head to see the source of his pain.

He gasped, squeezing his eyes shut to block the image of the six inch sliver of man-made rock stemming from his side. "Fuck," he wheezed, dropping his head back against Dean. At least it wasn't thick. Half an inch would do the trick if it got lucky enough though, he mused.

Dean's hand was clutching almost desperately at his back and unfurling Sam's legs away from his chest with his knees to shrug closer. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," his voice was suddenly in Sam's ear, trembling jaw pressed against his temple. "I'm sorry," he said again and again. His voice was broken, so painfully broken, and Sam's stomach churned at the thought of what caused it to shatter so brusquely.

"It's okay," he found himself whispering back, eyes closed as he unclenched his fists from Dean's front and surrounded his brother with his shaking arms. "I'm okay, Dean. It's okay."

"Not again," Dean dug closer to the crook of Sam's neck. Whether it was done consciously or not, Sam didn't know. "Not again," He repeated. "I won't fucking let it. Not again." He nearly growled the last bit but failed to relinquish his hold on Sam.

Sam remained silent for a fraction of a heartbeat. He had no idea what his brother was talking about, but he knew it hurt, and that tore a new hole in his heart. "God, Dean." He leaned into his brother a little more, ignoring the throb in his side. "What did they do to you?"

"Just gave him have a taste of the failure he knows is coming," a cool, harsh voice responded casually from somewhere over Dean's shoulder.

"NO!" Dean was wrenched from his grip and sent, feet dragging, to the adjacent wall as his own arms were forcefully pinned to the supporting surface behind him. Dean's eyes went unfocused, blinked, and connected with Sam's. He gave a pitiful tug on his invisible restraints, not even attempting to withhold his fear, and resigned himself to the bonds when the pain almost took his sight away. He refused to break contact with Sam's eyes that were filling fast as he was dragged almost lazily to his feet. Neither brother bothered to assess the damaging affects of the collapsed wall more than the rubble separating him from the other.

"I'm touched," the demon was suddenly stepping toward Sam, carefully avoiding rubble, "really I am." Dean's jaw twitched, but he managed to blink some reassurance into his gaze that he continued to keep with his brother. "But," the yellow eyed man continued, coming to a halt next to Sam and flashing him a smile, "this charade has got to end."

"NO!" Sam watched helplessly as Dean's eyes bulged and he released a single gasp before his breathing seemed to cease altogether. "STOP!" His mouth was agape, gulping for air that wouldn't come. "STOP!" Dean clenched his eyes shut but couldn't contain the tears that slipped from the corners and traveled slowly down his cheeks. "PLEASE!" His body began to struggle involuntarily against his restraints, desperate to claw at the hidden source that was restricting his air.

And Sam couldn't breathe anymore either. He blinked away tears and fought desperately against the force keeping him trapped against the wall. A sob caught in his throat and forced itself out in a barely coherent plea. "Dean..." He tugged harder, ignoring every ounce of pain, "DEAN!"

Dean's eyes opened just as his body began to sag. He blinked slowly in Sam's direction and couldn't hold back the free streaming tears of pain and sorrow that distorted his vision. Sam couldn't hide his sobs anymore than Dean could hide the spasms in his muscles or the gaping of his mouth. He was watching his brother die. "Please," he breathed, keeping his burning eyes fixed on his brother's. "Please." He was crying and he couldn't stop. "Please..."

Dean's chest hitched a final time. His slowly closing green eyes made a last, painful attempt to stay glued to Sam's before rolling to the back of his skull and ending his struggle. His head dropped.

"NO!" Sam screamed as the hole in his chest began shredding his insides just before a block the size of a door careened towards his immediate right. He flinched, unable to avoid the massive piece of stone as it connected with the body next to him. There was a deafening thud and a reverberating crash as it made its way down the wall and to the floor. Sam felt his bonds loosen, then sever altogether. He watched Dean slide silently to his side as he slammed into the harsh surface before he could catch himself. He scrambled to his feet, not even glancing to see the source of the object or the consequence of the blessing, stumbled over wreckage, and fell to his already throbbing knees next to his unmoving brother.

"Dean?" He paused as the blinding pain in his side caught up with him. He stared accusingly at the cement stake before gripping it by the end and wrenching it from his skin. He blanched, letting out a gasp for air before tipping in Dean's direction. He dropped the mangled piece of stone and reached for his brother with trembling hands. "Dean?" He slid a hand through his hair and tugged Dean's limp head off the ground by the back of his neck. He hung lose and unresponsive in his brother's hands. "Dean." Sam was shaking him softly, "Dean, come on." Dean's head lolled sadly from side to side, completely lifeless. "Dean, you gotta wake up," Tears were blurring his vision as Sam roughly shook his unresponsive brother. Still he refused to answer; refused to breathe. He considered CPR but knew his ribs couldn't handle it. It would only assure his death by suffocation. A collapsed lung was not an option. He choked on his voice and lifted Dean a little more, adjusting his legs to scoot closer. "Dean?" He choked on his brother's name. "Please, Please, Please..." He continuously muttered, finally tugging Dean close enough to rest his forehead against his brother's and cry. "DEAN!"

Dean suddenly gasped, chest expanding to swallow more air than his body could possibly contain. He struggled to retain the breath before falling into a fit of hacking coughs and rolling away from the elevated position he was being held at. Sam was sure he would have laughed with relief if he wasn't crying so hard. He gripped Dean gently by the back of the neck, used his other hand to support his weight, and tugged the struggling Winchester to a sitting position. He swayed. With his eyes still clenched tight to ward off the pain in his throat and ribs, he struggled through his breath-depriving cough and allowed himself to be pressed lightly against Sam's quaking form. Sam guided Dean's head to his shoulder and slid his arms around his back to grip weakly at his shirt and hair. He nuzzled his face into the crook of Dean's neck and resisted the sobs that refused to bend to his will.

Dean remained silent as his chest heaved to compensate for the loss of air and closed his eyes into Sam's shoulder. He felt Sam's shaking sobs but could barely breathe, let alone speak. His hand shook as he managed to lift it from the ground and rest it against Sam's lower back. He furled and unfurled his fingers in an attempt to comfort his sobbing sibling before his hand slid limply back to the floor. He couldn't even return the embrace. He swallowed and managed to barely whisper, "Sam?" He swallowed again, trying desperately to ignore the pain in his throat and terrible constriction in his chest.

"I thought –" Sam's voice broke at the sound of his brother's and he dug deeper into the comfort of Dean, alive in his arms, "I thought you were dead." He felt a lump lodge itself in his throat. "I thought you were dead," he repeated in a whisper.

Dean nodded softly and allowed his breathing to return to normal. "I'm not that easy... to get rid of, Sammy."

Sam laughed weakly and tightened his hold on Dean.

Something dislodging itself from the tangle of broken rubble had Sam turning Dean away from the source of the sound, his own protectiveness magnified by the idea of a new threat. He turned wearily as the image of a rugged woman staggered through the gaping wall; Meg. His heart rate quickened as she wiped blood from her bottom lip with a smile and turned to meet his widened eyes with soulless black orbs. "Hey, Sammy."

Dean's hand was gripping his wrist, failing miserably to tug him back in his weakened state. Instead he slid his grip to Sam's hand and intertwined their fingers. Sam squeezed once in response but kept his eyes fixed on the coming threat.

Meg began descending the mountain of wreckage, a bloody grin distorting her image. "Hi, Dean," she added. "How's the shoulder?"

Sam felt Dean tense before he returned the squeeze. He braced himself, preparing for what was to come.

Before she could take another step, the mass of cement pressed against the wall shook and hurled itself from the wall in Meg's direction. She stumbled, briefly startled, and reacted with a stern look and a wave of her hand that sent the concrete crashing through the gap in the wall. Her eyes traveled back to the empty space the yellow eyed demon had occupied half a second earlier before resting on Sam and snarling. He gripped his chest, helpless to contain the strangled cry of pain as he lost control of his senses and tipped back into the arms of his brother, rolling in agony. He was being torn open from the inside out. Dean's arm was holding him firmly against his chest, gripping his hand as tight as Sam was tearing at his chest, desperate to end the source of pain, when suddenly it was gone. He blinked in time to see another slab of rock hover feet away from the ground before whirling in Meg's direction, then change course and lurch towards them faster than they could hope to avoid. He flattened himself against Dean, squeezing his eyes shut in anticipation, but nothing came. He heard a crash, two, a third, and somehow Dean was pulling Sam by the shoulder and limping determinedly toward the gaping exit. There was no sign of either demon aside from the audible crashes echoing through the fortified walls.

Dean stumbled over the jagged edges of stone before Sam managed to catch his fall and take charge, wrapping an arm around Dean's waist and pulling his limp arm across his shoulders. Dean grimaced but made no complaint as they scrambled down the other side and struggled toward a blessedly open door. If chaos and violence and random unpredictable evil existed, then surely acts of random unpredictable good were out there too. As Sam tightened his grip on Dean and started down the decimated hallway, alive and with his brother, he knew one couldn't exist without the other. And it was both a comforting and terribly foreboding thought; miracles were, after all, notoriously few and far between if they even existed at all.

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**sad news:** One Fateful Night is looking like its update wont be for a little while. hopefully that only means a couple of days though. I'm so on this and have an almost entrie week of freetime coming up and plan to use that to write, write, write!


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